


Stage VI: Collision Course

by Trinket2018



Series: A Daring Adventure [6]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), NCIS, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: ATA Gene, Action/Adventure, Agent Afloat, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Ancient Technology (Stargate), Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mission Fic, Mpreg, Multi, Original Character(s), Sentient Atlantis, The Ancients - Freeform, The Wraith - Freeform, Tony-centric, Whump, spencer-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 67,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trinket2018/pseuds/Trinket2018
Summary: The action returns to Earth, with Stargate Declassification, the Lucian Alliance, the Trust, the Wraith, Tony’s fate and Carson’s, Gibbs vrs Teyla, not to mention Spencer’s twins… it’s all coming to a head, and who knows how it will all shake out? The cats, maybe?
Relationships: Anthony DiNozzo/Teyla Emmagan, Cameron Mitchell (Stargate)/Spencer Reid, Daniel Jackson/Vala Mal Doran/Jack O'Neill, Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: A Daring Adventure [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/996039
Comments: 43
Kudos: 171





	1. The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo sorry for the long wait… but… Yes, my friends, my story has split two-for-one yet again, but the good news is that I have now completed it. I’ve updated the first 5 stages for editing… Stage VI follows immediately after *Stage V: A Thousand Suns*. You really need to read Stages I-thru-V of the series before this one, or this will make *no* sense at all. The Reid-whumping was done at the beginning of Stage I, so now it’s just mission!fic (canon-typical violence for Stargate universe trouble magnets), male pregnancy & common-or-garden bigots to deal with. Well, maybe not *just*… 
> 
> Guest appearances by more crossover TV shows… sometimes *VERY* brief, blink-and-you-miss-it, so don’t get too excited.
> 
> Å

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Åuthor Notes: Reference to Stargate SG-1 episodes 7-17/18-‘Heroes I & II’ (Emmett Bregman’s documentary on the Stargate project), 6-17-‘Disclosure’ (Major Paul Davis briefs other country reps on the Stargate Project), Stargate Atlantis episodes 4-5-‘Travelers’ (John is captured by Larrin of the Travelers) and 5-20-‘Enemy at the Gate’ (the weapons chair was relocated from the Antarctica Outpost to Area 51, where the Wraith Super Hive ‘destroyed’ it). The Lucian Alliance family of Masen, Kira, Simeon and Varro, are all canon, from *‘Stargate Universe’*, used here without any permission whatsoever... 
> 
> Å

Å 

*~ Do you know what we call opinion in the absence of evidence? We call it prejudice. ~ Michael Crichton, State of Fear*

Å 

Teyla Emmagen, daughter of Tagan, had been a leader long before the people of Earth arrived in the Pegasus Galaxy to stand everything they thought they knew on end. It was her wisdom, her strength of character, her calm determination and experience, and yes, her special gift to sense the Wraith, that had often made the difference between survival and disaster for her people. She had always known she held the potential to be a Protector, as well as a leader, but it was only upon her union with Veralin Tony DiNozzo that those latent abilities had risen in her. She was used to relying on her instincts, even those that came with her taint of Wraith blood. 

But now, in this moment, she was fighting as hard as she ever had to resist those instincts. 

They were telling her to grab the biggest-ass gun John had in his armory, run screaming through the stargate to Earth, and make bloody war on anyone and *everyone* who stood in the way of her getting back her mate and her missing children! She would *EVISCERATE* Leroy Jethro Gibbs! She would *EAT THE HEART* of Anthony DiNozzo Senior! She would rend the flesh of Eli and Ziva David into bits *SO SMALL* even one of Rodney’s scanners wouldn’t find them! Her Protector instincts were *demanding* she get her family *back*! The Protector in her was *HOWLING* in rage!

And it was bleeding all over the city in fiery waves, revving their surprisingly numerous sentinels into a like ferocity. Ronon and John were right beside her. Anne and Dusty had come running, and so had Cameron. 

As soon as they erupted onto the Atlantis Command Tower Operations Deck, Sam Carter knew they were fucked. 

“Like I need this right now!” she complained aloud. She tapped the Atlantis comm circuits to call up reinforcements. “Teal’c, Daniel, Rodney, Reid, Kusanagi, Hartley, Zelenka, all of you zeds, get your asses up here to Ops, now! Dr. Porter, you too!” 

Eyes blinking in stunned amazement, Woolsey emerged from his office to stare at the seething group of people bearing down on them. “Colonel Carter?”

Carter huffed. “Agent DiNozzo has been abducted, with Tali, and we’re not sure where baby TJ is. From the description, Hennessey at the SGC is pretty sure it was an Asgard transporter beam. *Apollo* is looking for some trace of a cloaked ship in orbit over Earth, but no joy so far. If they know what’s good for them, whoever they are, they’re already out of System Sol by now. And I don’t have *time* for this shit, because someone back home has leaked *everything* about the Stargate, and POTUS is going to launch Operation Seventh Seal, like, *now*. Which means I’m going to have to go back, likely Daniel and Rodney too, at the very least, for Declassification and the First World Defense Initiatives... and you tell *me* how I’m supposed to deal with a bunch of enraged sentinels screaming for blood?”

Woolsey turned alarmed eyes on the mass of people arriving on the operations control deck. 

It didn’t help that Rodney came with a loud presence in his chest sling, Meredith Joy reacting to the emotions around her with a face purple from her angry screams. 

So Carter called up a page from the Jack O’Neill Play Book, and stuck three fingers in her mouth to whistle, screechingly loud, enough to bend the ears of any sentinel in range, and drive them into a splitting headache.

Once she had them halted and standing at a shuddering gasping standstill, she announced, “Conference Room! Everyone! Now! Teyla, you *have* to calm yourself. These guys are a step away from going feral, and we can’t get anywhere like that!”

Teyla was struggling to control her breathing, and it wasn’t working. “I know, I’m trying, but my children…”

“I know. I understand. I do. And we’ll do everything we can, as soon as we can, but you aren’t any use to anyone like this.”

Then Spencer stepped up, and reached to hold Teyla’s trembling shoulders. “Teyla? Listen to me. I can contact Tony. I can find out where he is, how he is. I can find out about Tali and TJ too. Right? Do you hear me?”

Wordlessly, Teyla nodded. With the touch of the Veralin, she was finally able to get hold of her roiling emotions, to see the way forward when all before had been a red haze of animal outrage. And once Teyla was able to hold onto a modicum of control, the other sentinels managed to come out of their near-feral funks as well. It helped that there was a zed hanging to each one. Or, in Anne Teldy’s case, her beloved and guide, Alison Porter. 

“Before you do that, Dr. Reid,” Carter warned, “we need to get a sit-rep. Earth seems to have chosen this special time to go completely off its collective rocker, and unless I miss my guess, and I don’t think I do, it’s probably all related. General O’Neill thought there was something bad brewing… turns out he was right, and he didn’t get back there a moment too soon.”

Å 

Plan A had been for Jack to get some airman to drive him out the gates of Cheyenne Mountain, and through the growing crowd of hysterical people amassing there, then over to Peterson Air Force Base. He was supposed to catch a lift to Washington on a conventional aircraft. Even if it was some milk-run cargo flight, that would give him ample time to read through reports piling up in his email in-box and assess just how bad the situation was. Well, no surprise, Plan A got blown all to hell. Plan B had *Apollo*, their one BC-304 deep space carrier currently in orbit, beaming him straight to the White House Oval Office, and the middle of chaos. 

Usually, any meetings of the full cabinet and Joint Chiefs were held in a larger conference room, at a big ol’ table with seats enough for everyone. Not this standing-room-only crush on the Presidential Seal carpet. The mob seemed to include half the senate and congress, most of the Pentagon, not to mention directors of half a dozen federal agencies, including, but not limited to, the FBI, CIA, Homeland, FEMA, and, this one had Jack scratching his head and wondering what-the-hell, the FDA. The Food and Drug Administration? Did someone mean to get ATF or DEA and misdial?

He sidled up to Tom Morrow and gave a heavy sigh. “So, Tom. How’s it hangin’?”

Tom gave him a wry lifted eyebrow. “I hear you lost one of the best investigators I’ve ever seen. You got a line on DiNozzo yet?”

Yeah, that was annoying the hell out of Jack, too. He thought DiNozzo and the Reid kid had anticipated all the likely scenarios and planned for them. 

“Chalk another one up to Eli David and his murderous daughter. They knew this mess was coming and took advantage of us all being too distracted to notice them right outside our door. I have no doubt DiNozzo and his kid are half way to Alpha Centauri by now, or wherever the hell Eli is hiding out with his Lucian friends. But at least we have the baby safe and sound.”

“He with Gibbs?”

“For the time being, until we can figure out how deep the Gunny is in the rest of that plot. For sure he knew Ziva was on US soil when she wasn’t supposed to be. But it was the Davids who called in DiNozzo Senior to create trouble. I think that surprised Gibbs as much as anyone. We got Gibbs, DiNozzo Senior and TJ at the SGC under heavy guard. And we’re attempting to make contact with our Agent Afloat.”

Tom raised both eyebrows at that. “If he’s half way across the galaxy by now…”

Jack shrugged. “We got a way to contact him. The Reid kid is handling that. Once we’ve got some kind of location we *will* go get our people back. But for now… we got more immediate problems.”

Morrow huffed. “No kidding.”

Since the President, seated behind his desk, seemed to be fielding at least four different phone conversations at once, and one was an irate Secretary General of the United Nations, Jack felt it was time to get this circus under control. Unknowingly echoing the scene on the Atlantis Operations Deck, he stuck three fingers in his mouth and blew hard.

That seemed to freeze everyone, including the itchy-finger secret service agents present, and all faces turned his way. Including a vastly relieved POTUS. 

“Jack! Thank God… Sorry, Secretary General, I’ll call you back… Yes, Mr. Prime Minister, you too… Everyone, I’ll call back in a few. Jack, we’re in a *situation* here!”

“So I see, Mr. President. But we’ve got plans in place. All we have to do is start implementing them.” 

He pushed through the crowd to the big desk, and slapped down a pile of folders with red covers. He turned around to address the entire hubbub. “Come on folks! Those of you who were already read into Project Bluebook must know… it was only a matter of time before *someone* noticed that we aren’t exactly alone in the Universe. We’ve had at least four near misses in the past ten years – Apophis and Klorel way back in the beginning, then Anubis over the Antarctic, and most recently the Ori plague and the Wraith Super Hive that blew holes in the Nevada desert. 

“And yeah, I understand that international treaties for the Antarctic made it necessary to move the Outpost Weapons Chair to Area 51, but, come on, *that* was an accident waiting to happen, and almost lost us the Chair altogether, along with the state of Nevada. *Anywhere* we put that thing makes a nice big target for our enemies. Thank God our people were able to patch it up, and wiser heads prevailed in letting us stick it back under the ice at the South Pole. And how some cruise ship didn’t crash into Atlantis while it was anchored off San Francisco Bay, I’ll never know, but it was only a matter of time before the Lucian Alliance landed a ha’tak on the White House lawn. We’ve been undeservedly lucky to get away with the secrecy this long.

“And, I gotta say this at least once, Mr. President, everyone, but… I *told* you so! The International Oversight Advisory board has been a disaster waiting to happen for years now! But… water under the bridge. Spilt milk. Now we tie a knot and carry on. Because this is our chance to turn a media nightmare into a new world order. We planned for this, people. It’s time to implement Operation Seventh Seal.” 

President Henry Hayes, looking a lot more relieved than he had before Jack arrived, gestured to the General in charge of HomeWorld Security. “Go ahead, Jack. Brief the folks on Seventh Seal, because they won’t listen to me.”

Jack cocked an eye at his Commander-in-Chief. “Oo-kaay then, Mr. President. For those of you still hung up on ‘aliens, what aliens’, get over it. I still don’t know exactly what those IOA flunkies have spilled, but I imagine there’s a lot of missing and mis-information out there, enough to create exactly the kind of panic we don’t want. 

“But now that the cat’s out of the bag, we have a documentary, by Emmett Bregman, that gives the 411 on Stargate Command. He updates every year or so, so it should be good to go, and we can’t do much better as an introduction to the Universe. Colonel Davis from my office has a power point briefing, a sort of Aliens 101, and a lot of you have been through it. We edit out the Wraith, and we can feed that to the masses, too. Then there’s over fifty hours of accumulated briefing videos that Dr. Daniel Jackson has made over the years, all of them suitable for family viewing, and almost all of them come with his personal translations into some thirty or forty different languages. I say we issue the whole lot of them, in order, on public television, BBC World, the internet, fucking YouTube… fight rumors with the truth, the way we want to tell it.”

He slapped his hand on the red folders. “And we do this, ASAP. In here is the First World Defense Initiative. It’s something we’ve been working on from the beginning, starting with General Hammond and all our smartest advisors, and that’s a whole lot of brain-power right there. Daniel has always claimed that the Stargate should *never* have been kept the secret of just one nation, but should be representative of the entire planet. Even keeping it the private business of IOA countries wasn’t good enough, as far as he’s concerned, and I fully agree. If the Secretary General of the United Nations is upset at being left out of the loop all this time, and who can blame him, I say we hand him this hot potato. Let him get as many countries as he can read in and signed up, as soon as he can.”

“Seventh Seal?” someone muttered. “‘And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven… And I saw the seven angels which stood before God; and to them were given seven trumpets… And the seven angels which had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound...’”

Jack nodded. “Exactly. Area 51 is crammed *full* of stuff we’ve been sitting on for years because of the secrecy around Project Bluebook. Advancements in medicine, agriculture, clean energy, tech of all kinds… stuff that can be of serious benefit to the entire world. Every single member of our scientist cohort have *years* of papers just waiting to be published, on medicine, bio-tech, agriculture, mathematics, sociology, history, anthropology, archeology, not to mention the virtual bombs our physics and astrophysics sections are about to drop on an unsuspecting academic community. Now, at last, we have the chance to get it all out there, do some good. 

“Not to mention the systems we can now get into place for protecting the planet! Arthur’s Mantle, the satellite weapons platforms… if we’ve been incredibly lucky not to have the Stargate and aliens secrets blown wide before now, we’ve *also* been incredibly lucky the Lucians or the Wraith haven’t attacked. The Goa’uld, the Replicators, the Ori… there always seems to be another big bad guy on the horizon, who looks at our little blue marble, with its resources of air, water, food, energy and slaves, and *drools*. Daniel’s little effort at a world-wide diplomatic treaty, The First World Protection Pact, can address that problem. And about time, too.”

“So,” the President declared, looking invigorated and even a little enthused, “We baffle them with science, flood all the media with information, *our* information, and come clean on the Stargate. SG teams as heroes, look at all the dead false gods, look at all our allies, look at our nifty spaceships… oh, and, those of you who have laughed at Dr. Jackson all this time, guess what, he was right! Want a space adventure? Here’s where you apply. And, oh yes, if you thought *Wormhole X-treme!* and Thom E. Gemcity’s latest might just be the truth packaged as fiction… hell, you’re right too! I like it. I’m excited about this plan. We’re going with it. 

“So while I call the Secretary General back, and some of you other guys make yourselves useful and call the leaders of the countries that were part of the now-defunct IOA, Jack, you get Bregman on the line. I want his documentary run tonight, every channel, and I’ll address the world after. And prepare to call Colonel Carter back to Earth. She’s in charge of the First World Defense Initiative and getting our satellites in the air, as soon as the UN gets us enough signatures on our Protection Pact. Declassification is a go, people. Right, team? Any questions? Then go to it!”

Å 

In a back corner of the Oval Office, taking advantage of the chaos with some assurance that they were being completely ignored by everyone around them, Generals Hank Landry and Ulysses Stahl, both with the Joint Chiefs, were huddled with Senator Aubrey Evans, chairman of a number of influential committees, including Senate Appropriations. 

“Jesus… he was ready for this,” Stahl complained bitterly.

Hank cocked him an eye. “You thought he wouldn’t be? You realize you may have just played straight into Jack’s hands? Far as he’s concerned, not only does he get to ditch the IOA, something he has *dearly* wanted for years, but he gets to push through his planet defense plans, all of which would be impossible without Declassification. I think I may have mentioned it once or twice…” Yeah, Hank was *loving* this. “And once they get the Mantle up, or whatever other barrier Carter and McKay have up their sleeves, there’ll be no getting through it. Not from our friends out there, or if anyone on our end needs to do a quick retreat in the face of overwhelming forces…”

Military man Stahl might grimace at that, but Evans merely shrugged. “If our so-called off-world friends can’t breach it, no big loss. We didn’t actually plan to honor our promises to them anyway, did we? As for escape routes… that’s what the gate is for, surely.” 

“Only if you can get through it,” Hank admitted. “And with all of the attempts to do an end run around SGC security lately… including way too many spies, double agents, rogue agents, not to mention symbiotes and that bloody bomb… well. The big boss might have a bit of a challenge, there. I can pretty much guarantee they’ve started scanning for naquadah and X-raying for symbiotes again.”

Evans looked particularly shifty… not a stretch for the politician. “And… this would be a bad thing, why?”

Stahl looked sour a moment, before he seemed to fall into agreement.

Hank chuckled, shaking his head. “So much for loyalty among allies, eh, gentlemen?”

“You tell me, General,” Evans snapped back. “If we go through with our plans, how many of them would honor their deals with *us*, or be satisfied with an equal slice of the pie? You watch *‘Survivor’* at all? You need strength of numbers in the beginning, when it’s team work and skills that gets you furthest. But as you get closer to the goal, you need to ditch any alliances that don’t serve your own interests. The very things that make someone of value to you in the beginning, make them a threat the closer to the end-game you get. It’s not a case of *if*, but *when* to cut ties. And that’s the tricky part.”

“So that’s your political platform and personal strategy? The snake versus the rat?” Landry asked, mildly amused.

“You are perfectly free to disagree. But I don’t notice you sticking by your old buddy Jack. He certainly cut you loose soon enough.”

Landry smiled and held up his hands. “True enough. Jack isn’t one for sharing the wealth, either.”

With a face like thunder, the Secretary of Defense, Raphael Dante, paced out of the throng, seeming to need to get as far from others as possible, while unable to bear leaving the room entirely. 

“Bloody, stubborn, short-sighted, annoying...” he muttered as he brushed against Stahl to stand and stare at a portrait of some past president or other. 

“Trouble, Rafe?” Landry asked lightly. Landry hadn’t worked with the man very much before he had been re-assigned to the Pentagon JCS, and hadn’t been overly impressed with what little he had heard on the grape-vine. Dante had never been in uniform, but he had been the CEO of a major defense contractor, supplying support staff to the various branches of the military. Word was he had bought his way onto the Cabinet, supported by a number of major lobby groups who shared and wanted his hard-line conservative views to be represented. Medium height, stocky, swarthy and olive-skinned, his most remarkable features were shrewd beady black eyes that could pierce you at twenty paces.

Dante glared at Landry, Stahl and Evans. “I guess our Commander in Chief has forgotten who his Secretary of Defense is. Who should be the one to make the decisions on what defensive strategies we need to deploy. I’ve never even *seen* that plan O’Neill dropped on Hayes’ desk, but suddenly... that’s what we’re going with. Big-ass orbital guns? Shouldn’t I have been informed we even *had* anything like that? And since we do have them, why the hell haven’t we used them before this?”

Landry had to work hard to bite his tongue on that one... No one at HomeWorld had *ever* wanted someone firing the kind of weapons they had acquired over the years, not on *anyone* on Earth.

But Stahl actually commiserated. “They shut out the whole JCS on that one, too, Rafe. There’s going to be a lot of hurt feelings around the Pentagon for the next little while.”

“It’s subverting the proper hierarchy and trashed chain of command! I should have damn well been informed! *Before* we started to move on any of it! Did you see that, though? It was like there was nobody else even in the room! It’s like O’Neill has already taken over.”

Stahl and Evans shared a shudder with Dante, much to Landry’s amusement. 

Adding fuel to the fire, Landry commented idly, “Well you all saw it. The only one who had a plan coming here this morning was Jack. The rest of you were all running around like chickens with the heads cut off, so what do you expect? And that includes you, Rafe. So is it any wonder, the only one Hayes listened to... Jack. I don’t expect that situation to change much, do you? And if you ask me, the only one the world will be listening to for the next little while will be Jack O’Neill. And that’s only going to get worse when they find out what a big fat hero the man is... once some of his mission reports get spread around, and people realise how many times he and his team have *already* saved the goddamned planet…”

Evans groaned. “He’ll have the world on his plate.”

None of Hank’s companions liked that idea... not one bit. Hank could only chuckle, and wonder how long it would take them to figure out what Hank already knew... their plans for global domination, or even US control, were for shit... unless they took Jack out of the picture first. Yeah, good luck with that. And even then, once the First World Defense Initiative was launched, that door would be slammed shut good and proper. 

Å 

It was easier to slip into the Spirit Plane during sleep, but Spencer had found it possible to get there with meditation as well. Teyla and Teal’c had both taught him some useful skills in that area, of much benefit in stilling his often over-active mind. Again, it was easier at night, somehow, when the bio-rhythms of those around him had quieted and slowed, when the city itself quieted and slowed… something about silver moon light, the hush of waves lapping at the feet of the towers, the gentle, almost undetectable sway of the floating platform beneath the city, like barely-remembered rocking in a cradle, or in warm arms in a rocking chair… yeah, there were times and places where it was easier. And with all the tension and upset on the city right now, only adding to his own sense of alarm and urgency, it all meant getting into the proper frame of mind would take some doing. 

So he retreated to the Aquarium. Luckily, it was deserted right now, so he didn’t have to toss anyone out. And as he looked out into the blue shadows of the surrounding ocean, he thought he saw huge, dark shapes drifting out past the clarity of the water… he thought it might be the alien whales Rodney had told him about. 

As he sat and folded his legs into a lotus, he closed his eyes… and thought maybe he could sense a curiosity, a concern and sympathy, just drifting on the edge of awareness, too. But he resolutely shut his mind to that, just as he had to the distress of a mate and mother, and a lot of furious and half-feral Protectors. He waited for Bast to crawl into his lap, so he could clutch at her soft fur and let her rumbling purr settle him…

Å 

…and stepped into the blue jungle glade. Cougar Bast growled and padded before him. A rustle of bushes, and lioness Oma joined them on the right. Another rustle, and coyote Luke loped out of the shadows to take their left flank. 

Spencer let the spirit familiars lead, as he listened, and occasionally called, for Tony and little Tali. 

The familiars led him further into the jungle, rather than out to the sentinel plain, or the haunted jungle beyond. They were hunting, just as he was, casting left and right, sniffing the air, seeking… 

Spencer stood still and just… listened. 

And then he heard it. Or maybe felt it. Oma’s head swiveled toward the noise, the faintest echo of sniffles and soft sobbing. She roared out defiance, anger, challenge, and began to run, her cat-like body sprung and coiled and charging flat out, as if she had scented an antelope and was starving. Bast’s cougar form managed, barely, to keep pace. Coyote Luke was smaller and better able to dodge through the undergrowth to keep up. Spencer ran as fast as he knew how, but he soon lost all three familiars in the jungle tangles. So he stopped and listened once more… and managed to triangulate. 

She was hidden under a large flowering bush, huddled into an almost fetal ball, head buried in her little arms, shuddering and struggling to keep silent. But her little shoulders were shaking with it, and she could barely hold in the sobs. The sniffles came louder and wetter all the time. 

“Tali? Sweetheart? Can you hear me? Can you see me? It’s Uncle Spencer, baby. I’m here.”

Green eyes peeked over her arms at him, almost blind with tears. “Unco ‘Pen?”

“That’s right. It’s me.” 

He sat by her bush, and opened his arms, waiting for her. She rushed into his lap with a convulsive cry, then began crying in earnest, wailing out her fear and grief and upset. Luckily, on the Spirit Plane, things like little kicking feet or pointy knees digging into his swollen stomach or groin didn’t have much impact. She might have tried to use her words, but mostly wasn’t succeeding, barely able to gulp out a few “Daddy!”s. He just had to wait her out. Soon enough, Oma, Bast and Luke found them there. Luke looked over his shoulder once or twice, anxious, but then huffed and settled next to the other two familiars, acknowledging that Tali was the priority right now. His human would be the first to insist.

Tali was a bright and precocious child, it was true, but she was still only three and a half. Spencer wasn’t sure how much help she would be in determining a location to search. He would at least be able to reassure Teyla that the child was alive and well, and his hope was that she was still with her father. If he could reach Tony, even if the man was unconscious, the agent would be able to tell them where the pair was. 

It took a while... in this spirit place time was a little hard to determine, but eventually, Tali’s sobs quieted. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked for comfort as she soaked up the reassurance of Spencer’s arms. Oma, a calico kitten once more, shoved into Spencer’s lap to get her human’s attention, and Tali began patting her pet.

“Tali? Sweetie? Can you tell me what happened?”

Green eyes threatened tears once more. “It was my eema. My Daddy was so mad to see her… She took us to a gold room... Then the scary man came. Daddy fell down and the scary man grabbed me. I didn’t want to leave my Daddy! But my Daddy fell down, and the scary man made the other men put us back.”

“Put you back?”

Tali sniffled and nodded. “Me and the scary man and my eema. He tol’ them he had things to do, my eema had things to do... and then there was a white light and it was all trees. My eema went away... I called to her but she went away... and it was just me and the scary man.”

Spencer could see it in the tiny girl’s memories, clear, if vague, her limited understanding of what she saw coloring her impressions. A shadow-darkened forest, surrounded by tall thick stands of north-west pines, and Ziva, still in a blonde wig and business suit, hefting a canvas bag to one shoulder, long, heavy… A sniper case? With a nod to her father, no attention whatsoever to her daughter, turning and disappearing into a break in the trees…

“The scary man took me to a car, and the car took me... I dunno. A big house.”

A car. Familiar architecture on the busy streets of a moderately sized town… Definitely Earth, almost certainly North America…

“I tol’ him I wanted my Daddy! But the scary man didn’t listen. He tol’ me to be good. He tol’ me to be quiet. He tol’ me not to cry. He said I should call him Zaydeh. I want my Daddy! I want my momma Tey!”

“I know, baby. I do. Listen, Tali. Listen, okay? Can you shut your eyes for me? Good. Now... I’m going to do something with you that I’ve never tried before. But if you can sit quiet, and let me see with your eyes, maybe I can tell where you are in the waking world. Okay? Can we try that? It might feel a bit weird for a moment, you might feel me inside your head... but can we try it?”

Tali nodded, looking trustingly up into his face. “Uh hunh.” Then she closed her eyes and waited. 

Gingerly, Spencer felt his way inside the little girl’s head... it was like dipping into pure, cold, clean water. The emotions were pure, too, elemental, fear and anger and outrage, and grief at the loss of a strong presence that had given her little life love, stability and a sense of security for months now. It was almost as overwhelming to him as to her. He shivered with it. 

“Okay... now let’s open our eyes, and I’ll see what you see.”

Å 

Eli David, the ‘scary man’, the more scary in his thick black beard, streaked with white, long curly iron grey hair and glasses, was somewhere on Earth. That much was clear from what Tali said, and the décor of the room bore that out. It was a hotel suite of some kind, somewhere, judging by the floral patterns in curtains, wallpaper and furniture upholstery. Nondescript still life prints were framed on the walls, the tasteful accessories, bedside lamps, framed mirrors, dried flower vases, all displayed a lack of personality. The ubiquitous small coffee maker sat on the dresser next to the dark TV screen. Spencer didn’t note any writing anywhere to give him an idea of language. Tali was lying on a sofa, under a woven plaid afghan, well big enough to cover her. 

There was a knock at the door, and Eli went to open it. A woman entered, middle aged, salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, dressed in a pant suit of dark navy with a white blouse, minimal jewelry and minimal make-up. She would disappear into any crowd. She said nothing, merely nodded to him, almost a salute of respect and obedience. It wasn’t anyone Tali knew. Eli whispered to her, but neither Tali nor Spencer could make out any words. The pair kept glancing around at Tali. Then Eli gestured, and both adults approached the sofa. 

“I have much to do, and I need a safe place to keep my granddaughter hidden, until I am ready to call for her.” Eli spoke in English… that was something of a clue, anyway. “All the paperwork and identification you will require are in the package I gave you, all forged of course, but excellent forgeries. There is an account in your name with your fee and more than enough to cover any expenses you may incur. There is bound to be a hue and cry for her… but if you dye her hair black and dress her as a boy, there need be no suspicion as to who she really is. On no account allow her to be examined by any medical professional. Her zed status must not be revealed. You know how to contact me should you encounter any difficulty, or need more money.”

“Yes, sir,” nodded the woman, her accent definitely Israeli, but she spoke English all the same.

“Tali. This is a good friend of mine. You will call her Dodah Irene. She will call you Tamir, and care for you while I am busy elsewhere. You will behave yourself and be good for her.” 

“I want my Daddy! I want my momma Tey! I can be good for them.”

An angry snarl escaped the ‘scary man’. “You will not see DiNozzo or his woman again. You will not mention them again. They are as dead to you. You understand, Talia? You do not mention them, you do not even *think* of them, ever again! And your new name is Tamir.”

For a moment, it seemed the angry and stubborn daughter of Tony DiNozzo would launch into a screaming fit, rejecting this demand. But Spencer put a cautioning mental hand on her shoulder, urging her to accept and obey, for now at least. When Tali’s eyes watered and her breathing started coming in gasps, Spencer tried to soothe her. But her upset and grief, her fear of ‘Zaydeh’, without the strength her anger and resistance would have lent her, overcame her, and Spencer felt himself being abruptly kicked out of her small head. 

Tali was on Earth, and Eli was already passing his granddaughter off to someone else. But maybe that was just as well, all things considered.

Spencer tried to console the little girl when she was back in his arms in the blue jungle, having cried herself out of the waking world once more. 

“Hush, sweetie. Hush now… look, here beside you, do you see this?”

Oma was back in her large lioness form, looking every inch the queen of beasts, savage and strong and equal to any challenge. The little girl should have been terrified, but her sobs and gasping dwindled quickly, her pretty green eyes opened wide, and she was able to smile a little, those DiNozzo dimples showing. 

“You know who this is.”

“It’s Oma.”

“Yes it is. And she’ll be with you all the time, awake and asleep. If you get frightened or angry or lonely, you just remember Oma is there, and so are we. Me, your daddy, momma Tey, all our friends on the city. Right? 

“We’ll find a way out of this. I’ll find your daddy, and he’ll be able to come and meet you here in the sleeping spirit world, okay? You be good, do what they tell you, but don’t you worry about your daddy or momma Tey. We’ll find you, sweetie, and we’ll get you back home. I promise.”

Maybe it was unwise of him to make such a promise… maybe it bordered on a lie… or at least, a promise he had no way to guarantee… but as long as he could maintain this connection to Tali, so could Tony. Together they would find a way to rescue an innocent little girl who didn’t deserve to be made a pawn of a ‘scary’ man’s ambition.

When Tali was sleeping soundly in this realm too, Spencer settled her back under her bush, with Oma a large and intimidating presence protecting her. The lion gave him a nod and a promise to guard her precious human. Spencer went his way, Bast and Luke on either side. 

He still had one missing person to locate, if he could.

Å 

Tony went straight from unconscious to awake, with a jangling, burning, skin-jumping electric itch, as if he had stuck his wet finger in a power socket, or been struck by lightning. Those damned zats… 

The last face Tony expected to wake up to was Bas’er of Netu, the jaffa Lucian Alliance prisoner who had escaped from Atlantis custody in the wake of the rogue Genii invasion. But maybe that was just him being stupid, because, of course, the guy would still be circling in Eli David’s orbit. Although the guy still had that black tattoo on his forehead, he had managed to score some new clothes and armor. Oh yeah, and quite a bit more attitude.

But maybe the guy was entitled because, yes, it was now Tony in a six-by-six foot cell. Three walls were a fetching but over-done gold-plate, covered in Egyptian symbols Daniel would no doubt love, with a sparking sci-fi force field across the front. Tony groaned as he levered himself up off a narrow and hard-as-a-board cot, not long enough for him to stretch out, taking note that Luke was sitting large as life in a corner of the cell. 

His kids. Oh god, his kids… Tey was going to *kill* him for this, and he would never hear the end of the ‘told you so’s from *everyone*. And desperate as he was to dive into the blue jungle spirit plane to make contact and see what the hell had happened to Tali and TJ, he knew that until he had shaken off the effects of the zat, there wasn’t a hope in hell.

So he was left with just one source of urgently needed information, and he seriously doubted the guy was willing to cooperate.

“My daughter? Tali?” he asked at once. 

“With Eli David,” Bas’er smirked happily. Oookay. So, one over-the-top Bond villain willing to spill the big evil plan to the captured hero. Good, then. Or maybe it was just the bastard could torture Tony more with the brutal truth, so there was no incentive to hide it from him. “He’s back on your planet, as is his daughter, scheming their schemes.”

“My son? TJ?”

The jaffa frowned briefly. “We only brought Eli’s daughter, the child and you on board.”

Yeah, that rat bastard Gibbs had been holding TJ… that *utter and complete bastard*! Oh, he was so massively, sincerely, *pissed* it defied description! How could he? How *could* he? No matter how bad things were between them, no matter what else had happened… he would *never* have thought Gibbs could betray him so… so thoroughly! Not even for Ziva, the schmuck, the utter gullible *schmuck*! And calling in Senior? That *utter and complete bastard*!

“That was all we intended to bring up,” Bas’er continued chatting idly, leaning on a big staff thing… staff weapon, Teal’c called his similar lance-like contraption. “The child was our true target, to satisfy our agreement with Eli, to secure his granddaughter for him. You were a pleasant bonus. He thought you might be difficult to separate from the child. But no matter. Eli was prepared for this. He cares little what we do with you, as long as you are out of his way. And you have a value, zed. You can operate the gate-builder tech with ease, and you have much experience, gained on the lost city itself.”

Yeah, Tony got that.

Bas’er’s grin only got wider, however, when he added, “And you have caught the eye of Nun.”

Okay, Tony needed a moment to process that one… He’d caught the eye of none? “So, what, I’m invisible now? You seem able to see me just fine.”

Bas’er frowned briefly again, before he huffed and rolled his eyes – very un-jaffa-like. You’d never catch Teal’c rolling his eyes like that, even at O’Neill’s worst jokes. The lifted eyebrow of doom, maybe…

“No, zed. The Goa’uld Lord Nun. He wears a host body too old to be comely, and too notorious to be safe walking on your Earth, or go undetected. He needs a new form, and he has chosen yours. This time tomorrow, you will be but a memory in your own mind, your body possessed by another.”

Oh *hell* no!

This whole thing just kept getting worse and worse. Carson had told them this, hadn’t he? That rat- bastard, the ex-Vice President of the United States and Trust sympathizer, Robert Kinsey, was currently walking around as a meat suit for a goa’uld… Yeah, the name was Nun. Stupid name. So stupid it was way too easy a target for jokes… but he needed more intel.

“And where are we right now?”

“In Lord Nun’s tel’tak, on approach to Jorac. He has ordered us to prepare the claiming ceremony, while he makes himself… presentable.”

Tony lifted one eyebrow. “Shouldn’t that be, making *my*self presentable? If he’s just going to drop his old body like last year’s Armani, why should he care what it looks like?”

Bas’er snickered. “Your cat attacked him. He bears claw marks across his face.”

“Ah.” Luke found his way to Tony’s lap, and the agent congratulated the familiar. “Good going, Luke. So showing up with bleeding wounds won’t exactly up his street cred, I guess?”

“He will be a laughing stock. Already the story has spread to everyone on this ship.”

“Uh hunh. I bet he isn’t too happy about that. Well…”

There was an alarm over whatever ship-wide address system the tel’tak had, in Goa’uld that Tony could now understand because he had been through the gate system so much. It ended with a barked out, “Jaffa Kree!”

“Well, I guess you better get going then,” Tony advised glumly.

Bas’er seemed a little reluctant to give up his taunting of the prisoner, but jaffa were passing the open door to the prison section, so Bas’er reluctantly joined them. They weren’t going far. The tel’tak was a smallish vessel, and the cargo deck where they’d been ordered to congregate was right next door. Tony could even see a slice of it from his cell when he stood as close as possible to the tingling of the force-field barrier. 

The crew and staff of the ship assembled, ranged in orderly rows, armor clacking in one loud explosion of noise as they came to rigid attention on command… but then there was a livid sputter of blue-white light, a moment of waiting, baited silence… then another simultaneous clacking of armored plates, as all twenty-odd men fell to the floor. Then one more flash of electric staticy light… and a third. And all he could see from his vantage was shiny polished floor.

Empty.

Okay… harsh. Tony could only speculate what the hell that was all about. 

Then he heard distant shouts, the grinding of a gang-way lowering, soldiers marching in. Two peeled off to enter his little hallway, one guy pressed some control on the wall, and the force field dropped. With a curt gesture, no words, Tony was pulled out and prodded out of the tel’tak and onto another ship. The tel’tak runabout had evidently been landed inside another much larger ship, on its cargo deck. 

Luke seemed to have no trouble following closely behind, and none of the numerous crew and staff of this ship gave him a moment’s notice. 

It was another vessel coated liberally in gold and hieroglyphs, with maze-like hallways going every which-way. Tony didn’t bother trying to memorize the route for a return. His guards escorted him to one hall, opened a door – he missed how they did that – and pushed him inside. Luke bounded in to slip around at his ankles. 

Then, before he had properly taken his bearings, he heard a familiar voice with a Scottish lilt to it announce, “Tony! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Carson?”

Å 

Colonel Samantha Carter’s day was showing no sign of slowing down, at all. And since this was the Pegasus Galaxy, where barely-suppressed panic was the order of any given day, why should it be different today?

Jack wanted her back on Earth ASAP, along with Teal’c, Daniel and Rodney, and no one was happy about that. If you take Rodney, you had to take Sheppard and Meredith Joy, and Rodney did *not* want his kid anywhere near a recent zed-child-kidnapping site, let alone to a zed-unfriendly country like the United States. And if Sam, McKay and Sheppard were leaving the city, that left Woolsey, Major Lorne and Radek Zelenka in charge of the admin, military and sciences divisions, and that might prove to be a problem. It wouldn’t be so bad if Teyla was in her right mind and fulfilling her unacknowledged role as ranking Pegasus native, but… well, Teyla was *not* in her right mind, and wouldn’t be, couldn’t be, until DiNozzo and the kids were returned safe and sound. As for Daniel, he was reluctant to leave Vala, and even more reluctant to jump into the media feeding-frenzy that would be going on back home for the foreseeable future. 

And then Chuck announced an unscheduled off-world activation of their stargate. 

Terrific. 

“It’s the Travelers’ IDC, ma’am,” he supplied. 

With a gesture to the gate guards to be on their toes, Sam nodded, and Chuck dropped the gate shield. And Captain Kysol came through, along with Commander Larrin at her side. Larrin might not be too popular with Sheppard, since she lost no opportunities to remind him of the time she had held him bound to a chair and at her mercy as she flirted wildly with him… so she wasn’t too popular with Rodney either. But Sam liked and respected the Traveler leader well enough. She had certainly longed to have a few of her own male cohorts tied to a chair and at her complete mercy…

Standing between the two women was a scruffy, tattered-looking male who seemed a little…

Suddenly, Dr. Reid was there at her side, frowning, Cameron rushing to catch up from whatever sprint the FBI profiler had made to get up here. Last she had heard, their second agent afloat was still trying to connect with his boss. Little Tali DiNozzo was somewhere on Earth, alive, if shaken and terrified, but had been separated from her father, so they still had no idea where he was, or what his condition.

“Any luck?” Sam asked, hoping for a brief answer even as she prepared to meet their guests. It was almost unprecedented, that Travelers would leave their ships to travel by stargate, so this could not be good news. 

At least the agent was brief. He merely shook his head, then pointed to their guests. “But that man is… *devastated*.”

Yeah, he had that shell-shocked look to him. 

“Captain, Commander. Welcome to Atlantis. May I offer refreshments?” Manners first.

“No time,” Kysol answered. “May we use your conference room? You need to hear this man’s story.”

Larrin was peering around as more and more expedition members seemed to appear out of nowhere. “I don’t suppose Sheppard is around? He should join us.” Her smile was definitely predatory, and Sam could understand, after having read the reports of this woman’s… interaction with her fellow Colonel. And yes, Sheppard was suddenly there, smirking at Larrin, even as Rodney shoved him away. 

“No touching,” Rodney commanded sternly, holding Meredith Joy to his chest and glaring at the Traveler Commander.

Amused, Larrin bowed to the will of a Veralin. “Cute baby,” she commented to Sheppard. “Yours?”

“Oh yeah.”

Those present with any excuse crowded into the conference room and quickly sorted to seats, while Kysol gently guided the shaken man. He was tall, dark blonde hair, and would be good looking after a shower, shave, a meal or three and a good twenty-four hours sleep.

“This is Varro. We found him in a damaged little ship he called a ‘death glider’, says he was lieutenant of a man named Masen, leader of clan Hauhet of the Lucian Alliance.”

There were gasps all around at this. 

Sam frowned sternly. “You serve the Lucian Alliance, Varro?”

The stricken man swallowed and shook his head. “No longer. There is no one left to serve. My clan… they are all dead. Masen thought to make an alliance with the Wraith… we met with one hive, when six more appeared… seven hives… all seemed peaceful, until… they attacked. We were overwhelmed by numbers… no chance… their culling beams sliced through every shield we had… I could see the numbers of living bodies disappearing on my scanners… I gave the order to run… only I was lucky enough to escape.”

Sam felt her stomach lurch. “Did your leader know the location of Earth? Did any of your clan?”

Varro looked her in the eye with despair. “They all knew it. As do I.”

Kysol nodded. “Then so do the Wraith.”

Terrific…

Clutching his baby daughter protectively to his chest, Rodney stuck out that pugnacious chin of his, and said, “Then it’s a good thing we have the First World Defense Initiative on the table, isn’t it? Sam, I guess I’ll be coming with you to Earth after all. You’ll need my help, if we’re to get it up and running in the shortest possible time-frame.”

Å


	2. Broken Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Åuthor Notes: Welcome ‘NCIS’ spin-offs ‘NCIS: Los Angeles’ and ‘NCIS: New Orleans’. The more the merrier… btw, NOLA = New Orleans, LA (Louisiana state abbreviation).

Å 

Gibbs finished off his meat loaf with a sigh and drank the last of his coffee. He pushed the metal tray away from him, and lifted his baby son from the nest of pillows on the cot and back into his arms. They had tried taking the infant away, no one pleased with him as care-giver in this situation, and he couldn’t really blame them. But every time they tried, little TJ screamed until he was returned. That… was a little bit gratifying to Gibbs, little though he felt he deserved it. 

He had been held in this little room on the Cheyenne Mountain base since the ‘incident’, incommunicado, and not told a damn thing about where Tony, Ziva or Tali might be. No one had even come in to ask him any questions. He knew that was on purpose, to soften him up for the inevitable interrogation. As if he wasn’t a master of every trick in the interrogator’s manual.

Not that he planned to give them any hassle about that. He was well and truly fucked, and he knew it. And yes, he deserved every bit of punishment these people could dish out. Coming clean was the only form of amends he could make right now.

He thought he had it all planned so well… he had talked it over with Dwayne Pride and Tobias Fornell until they were all three blue in the face… Neither of the other two thought it was worth the risks, were skeptical from the get-go, but Gibbs had mowed down their every objection. He was going to see his kid, no matter what else, so he might just as well take advantage of the opportunity. And it had seemed like a good plan, fool-proof. Every option discussed, every eventuality planned for, the perfect trap for a couple of foreign traitors and their damned secret agendas on US soil… whatever the hell they might be. Fornell had offered FBI back-up, but the David family were an NCIS problem, so Pride had brought along his NOLA team. That should have been more than enough fire power. 

But none of them had counted on alien transporter beams straight out of *’Star Trek’* or *’Wormhole X-Treme!’*. Well, who the hell would?

With a sigh, he looked down at the peaceful face of his sleeping son and said, “I fucked up big time, TJ. Not the first time, probably not the last, but… maybe the worst. Your other daddy is never going to forgive me for this, and he shouldn’t. Thing is, I *had* a cunning plan… and it went to shit the moment Senior marched in with Ziva. And then there was that damn alien transport ray, or whatever the hell it was… And yeah, I took my eye off the ball. The minute I held you in my arms that first time… I’m sorry, kid. Can’t tell you how sorry…” 

“Oh, but I think you better tell me, Jethro,” said Henrietta Lange, coming through the door and taking the one chair in his little cell, when he was taking up the cot.

Gibbs sighed again. “I screwed up big time, Hetty.”

“That you did. I’ve talked to Dwayne and Tobias… they’re helping Callen investigate, and they filled us in on the plan. I have to admit… it might even have worked if…”

“If Ziva wasn’t using god-damned alien zap rays. What the hell, Hetty?”

“You missed the Stargate Declassification furor this morning?”

“Didn’t miss it, just didn’t pay much attention. Didn’t think, not in a million years, that it had anything to do with… me.”

“Not even after McGee’s efforts at novelizing DiNozzo’s Agent Afloat adventures?”

Gibbs shut his eyes tight. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Agent DiNozzo has been assigned to the lost alien city of Atlantis since Leon kicked him out of DC. And yes, that would be the real, actual lost city of Atlantis. Not so lost any more, just… sitting on an ocean in another galaxy. Ziva and Eli David actually got themselves assigned to the city, in the Pegasus Galaxy, in case you were wondering, so they both had access to… well. Your plan never had a chance of working. But you weren’t to know, and didn’t bother to ask. So… care to introduce me?”

With a wan smile, Gibbs tilted to reveal his son. “Hetty, meet Tagan Jethro Gibbs. TJ. TJ, meet Henrietta Lange, an old friend of your dad’s.”

Hushed and almost reverent, Hetty said, “He’s adorable, Jethro.”

“Yeah… and as soon as he’s old enough to realize what I’ve done, he’s going to hate me.”

“Maybe so…”

“Can you tell me… what happened to DiNozzo and Tali?”

“We’re not sure. I’ve been told Tali is on Earth, somewhere, with Eli, and was turned over to a babysitter Eli apparently trusts. But since this isn’t the first time he’s tried to turn her over to allies, and the last time they turned out to be… well, he sent Trent Kort, of all people, to fetch his granddaughter from the people Ziva had hidden her with.”

“Trent Kort!”

“Yes. Not the best choice, and he sold Eli out, along with Tali, to some third party. Luckily, Tony’s friends were there to stop them. So confidence is not high that Tali DiNozzo is safe.”

“But… she’s not with Ziva?”

“No. Did you think she would be? Jethro, the woman hasn’t seen the child more than a couple of times since her birth.”

“But… she… it’s her daughter. I know Ziva is seriously off the rails, maybe always has been, but… She wouldn’t hurt her own daughter…” And he winced, remembering only too vividly that she had assassinated her own half-brother. Shot him in the back, a brother she professed to love dearly, on her father’s orders.

“That would depend, wouldn’t it? On whether Ziva thinks of Tali as more her daughter… or DiNozzo’s?”

Gibbs shut his eyes tight and groaned. “And she hates DiNozzo.”

“Apparently so. They were separated, by the way, and no word on where DiNozzo might be at the moment. These people have some means of getting in touch with him, if he is alive, but I’m told it might take a while. In the mean time… we have two rogue spies out there on *this* planet, and we need to know as much as possible about their movements and motives. Do you know, Jethro?”

“If you’ve already talked to Pride and Tobias, then you know as much as I do of the situation. Ziva came to me with a story about wanting to connect with her daughter… thought if I could get DiNozzo here with TJ, then he might bring Tali too, if I asked.”

“But you didn’t buy her story?”

“I might have at one time… but there’ve been too many lies, too many betrayals. I never realized just how deep her resentment, even hatred of DiNozzo went… not until she left him hanging on that last undercover op with my team. He might have been killed! The greenest probie wouldn’t have… She’s claimed all along that DiNozzo was harassing her, coercing her into sex, rape… I never really… I mean, not DiNozzo. He could barely stand to be in a room with her outside work… that much I *did* know… and Ziver was *never* intimidated by him, never even respected him, treated him like a joke from day one… She could wipe the floor with him if it came down to an actual physical contest. Would she *ever* allow him to push her, on anything? Hell, no. I did think maybe it was slop over from her prejudice against zeds… but I’m thinking now she never knew about his gender. He would never let her close enough, never trust her enough with that secret. 

“But Tali *is* her daughter… that much I did sorta believe… that she wanted to see her daughter again, and knew DiNozzo might balk at it. Thing is… I talked it over with Pride, and we both figured… well, it smelled. The whole situation. I called in Tobias, and he confirmed that if Ziva was in the States, it was illegally. And since we couldn’t find out who she might be working for, or what she was up to that made it worth her taking the risk of contacting me... we all figured it was her father again, and he’s wanted by a lot of agencies, world-wide. For what, no one will say. So we figured… I mean, Eli’s burned through all the family he has… we thought maybe both he and Ziva wanted Tali back, one more chance to get it right. Neither Tobias nor King liked it, but they agreed to help me corner whoever showed up at this meet. I knew Ziva would be there… figured Eli might show too. But… hell, Hetty! Transport rays? How the hell were we supposed to know?”

“And Anthony DiNozzo Senior?”

“Hell if I know. Ziva must have called him in. Just more confusion and distraction, I’d guess. Plus… with the laws in the US, the bastard did have a case to take custody of Tali, if not TJ. Paternity tests will prove I’m TJ’s father, so I have first right to his custody, not Senior. Tali, though… Where is he, anyway? You have him in custody too?”

“No. We had nothing to hold him on. Had to let him go. Like you, he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, at most a witness. Claimed Ziva called him to tell him he was a grandfather, which was news to him… he claimed not to know she was in the country illegally, which is actually probably the truth. As for your plan… None of you were read into the Stargate Project before now, so there’s no way you should have been able to guess what Ziva was going to do. We might, if we were being particularly bloody minded, hold you on aiding and abetting an illegal alien in the country with false papers… but Dwayne and Tobias both confirm your story, that you were setting a trap for Ziva and her father. The only one we can establish charges against is Ziva, for kidnapping DiNozzo. Tali might be considered nothing more than a custody issue, and in this case, in the US, she and Eli, like Senior, have more rights to Tali than DiNozzo does.”

Gibbs frowned. “Then… why am I still here?” and he gestured at his grey box of a room.

“Oh, you’re not the one in protective custody, Jethro.” Hetty nodded her chin at the sleeping baby. “Come on, and bring TJ. We have a meeting to go to.”

Å 

Hetty led him through featureless grey corridors full of hurrying people, some in uniform, some in fatigues of blue or green, some in BDU’s, some in civvies and white lab coats. After an elevator ride with a card-reader control, more corridors even busier with purpose, they entered a conference room. International flags lined the walls, framing a big crest, a global map in the background with what looked like a triangle with a circle on the top, sitting in a circle with a ring of odd figures on the outside. 

At the big oval table, Gibbs already recognized most of the faces. Tobias Fornell, Dwayne Pride, G Callen and Sam Hanna, all studying files in front of them with grim faces. And at the head of the table, Vice Admiral (retired) AJ Chegwidden, the former JAG. He looked up as Gibbs, Hetty and TJ entered, and frowned, looking like a disappointed and disapproving papa. Oh yeah, Gibbs was in shit with a *lot* of people. Chegwidden had always been one of DiNozzo’s fans.

Pride and Tobias both seemed a little embattled, and quite a lot chastened. But neither of them carried the weight of guilt and responsibility Gibbs did for this clusterfuck.

Chegwidden pushed back in his chair to stare at Gibbs. “I should be in DC right now, backing up my Director with this damned Declassification fiasco on our hands! You have *no* idea what the hell we’re facing there, and he needs my back-up with those political, military and press vultures. But no… I have to be here, because you and your two amigos here fucked up, *big time*!”

“Hey now, Admiral,” Pride protested, “the plan would have worked if we had all the information we needed… we had all the exits covered, we had back-up on speed dial, I have Chris LaSalle and Gregorio still at the hotel waiting for the word to move… but how in heaven’s name were we supposed to know Ziva could hit a button and be *beamed up*?”

“Maybe so,” Chegwidden granted grudgingly, “but you still put two children at risk with this stunt, and one of them is still missing. Tali DiNozzo could be literally *anywhere* on the planet right now! As for DiNozzo… *my* Agent Afloat could be literally anywhere in the *galaxy*, and he is *not* in friendly hands! Well, Gunny? What the *hell* do you have to say for yourself?”

With a heavy sigh, staring down at his precious son’s sleeping face, Gibbs straightened his shoulders. Reluctantly, he raised his head to meet Chegwidden’s eyes. It was time to man up.

“Nothing, Admiral. You know what I was doing, what my intentions were. We were acting on faulty and incomplete intel, yeah… but the decision to run this op was mine. Both Pride and Tobias protested, for good reason as it turns out. But we didn’t know.”

“Maybe not,” the Admiral allowed, “but DiNozzo himself *did*! Why in *hell* didn’t you tell him what you were up to? I can guarantee, all you would have had to do is mention Ziva was involved, just one mention of her name, and he would have known to take extra precautions.”

“Or he would have said no to a meet of any kind.”

“Well, *yee-aah*! Last time we saw Ziva and Eli David, they were leading a traitorous, mutinous and failed, coup on one of our remote bases. In their escape, they released at least six prisoners, enemies of this world, and had taken one airman and one medical doctor hostage, kidnapped them out from under us! The airman is dead, the doctor still MIA. The Davids are wanted for treason against the *planet*, Gibbs, allied with enemies of the whole damned human race! And you… you…”

Words failed the enraged former JAG. He swiveled his chair to give the room his back while he tried to regain control. 

FBI senior agent Tobias Fornell gave a little uncomfortable cough. “Yes. In hindsight we should have checked with DiNotzo first. We did know Ziva had shown her face at his base… he told us that much in a message he sent Gibbs about TJ and Tali. But he never said anything about her being a wanted criminal. The warrants out on her… there weren’t any specifics…”

“No,” Chegwidden agreed, “because it was *classified*!”

Hetty held up a small hand to intervene. “I think we’ve hashed this out enough, gentlemen, and it’s getting us nowhere. So enough with the blame game. There’s enough to go around,” and she gave particularly pointed stares to Dwayne Pride and Tobias Fornell. “AJ, you’re going to have to leave for DC soon, so we need to de-brief, and then we need a plan in place. Now, as I understand it, you’ve been in contact with Tali DiNozzo?”

Taking a deep, bracing breath, Chegwidden turned back to the table again. “Yes. Dr. Reid has been in contact with her.”

“How the hell—“ Gibbs barked out, bewildered.

AJ gave him the fish-eye. “That’s *classified*, Gunny! Suffice it to say, he is in contact. Tali is alive and well, somewhere on this planet, we think maybe even still in Colorado, but we can’t be sure of her safety. Eli turned her over to a woman named Irene. We have a description, and intel that indicates they’re going to try and disguise the kid, dye her hair black and dress her as a boy, in order to move her wherever they have in mind. We have our people looking for her. The guess is that they had a staging post here in Colorado Springs, and still may be in the city limits. We don’t believe at this time that Eli has any intentions of turning her over to the zed trafficking network, but DiNozzo is already in their hands. My teams will be looking for him, along with Dr. Carson Beckett, their other zed hostage. The big concern we have right now is… Eli and Ziva David. They were both returned to Earth with Tali, for some unknown purpose. We think Eli will re-establish contact with his CI/CT networks, not to mention his Trust and Lucian Alliance allies, but Ziva… Ziva disappeared into the trees, according to Tali, had what looked like a sniper case with her, and we don’t know where she went from there, or why. 

“Now Hetty, you and your people have been working on the IOA and Trust angles. What do you have for us?”

Hetty nodded to G Callen, her best agent. He picked up a briefing folder, and took over the meeting.

“We were read in some months ago to track possible traitors inside the IOA. That’s the International Oversight Advisory council, that was supposed to monitor and, to an extent, have final say as to HomeWorld and Stargate Command operations. But there’ve been a growing number of incidents lately that indicate there are moles at work inside the IOA, members of a known terrorist and technology smuggling ring known as the Trust, made up of at least some… ‘off-world’ personnel. They are also allied with an organization calling itself the Lucian Alliance, that is basically a bunch of off-world gangsters, running drugs, slaves, piracy and a sci-fi version of the protection racket all over the Milky Way Galaxy. Their latest venture is the human trafficking of zeds, as high-value slaves. Now, since Earth is the only source of zeds in the Milky Way, they’ve been dealing with the Trust to abduct as many as they can, world-wide.

“In our investigation into the IOA, we’ve discovered it’s absolutely *riddled* with moles, and not just the Trust. The Bratva, the Russia mafia, Israeli Mossad and Kidon operatives, half a dozen other covert organizations. Not a few of the IOA staff and board members are just plain corrupt opportunists, selling secrets to the highest bidder… not always for money, but for influence and ‘favors’ as well. In fact, at this point, it’s easier to identify who in that bunch of incompetents is *not* on the take from someone or other.

“As for this morning’s disaster, we have the names of the ex-staffers and one ex-board member who blew the whistle on the Stargate Project. All four were fired in the fall-out after the failed invasion of Atlantis. That was laid at the door of the IOA because they’re the ones who sent Eli David out there as their agent, and supported him to enable his mutiny against the city. In an effort to at least appear to be cleaning house, they fired the Russian rep board member, and three staffers. All four used the disruption over the leaks to run.”

AJ glowered, “*Tell* me you know where they all are.”

G Callen’s grin was predatory. “Oh, we know where they *all* are. Since they’ve all committed treason in violating their non-disclosure agreements with their host countries, we’ve alerted the proper authorities to go and arrest them. Two of the four are already in custody awaiting extradition. The third and fourth are… being given a long rope at the moment. The ex-board member has contacts we want to identify, and there’s a chance Aviv Charnas might lead us back to Eli David, and he’s the bigger fish right now.”

Hetty supplied, “Of more concern is the more corrupt members of the IOA who are still employed at that organization. Board Chairman Antoine DuPont *may* be just a gullible, greedy and power hungry idiot, but the *trusted* advisors he’s surrounded himself with… well. For example… The Board Treasurer, American Franklin Murphy, and DuPont’s under secretary, Emile Roget, are both Trust. DuPont’s exec assistant Bruno Duval and Aviv Charnas are both Eli David’s plants. The Russian member’s under-secretary and current acting board member, Zoya Sokolov, is in the pay of the Russian Bratva, which we are pretty sure at this point also has ties with the Trust. We can’t find much on British accountant Crispin Paddington… except that he just happens to be Agent DiNozzo’s cousin…”

Sam Hanna gave a cough that might, if you were listening hard enough, sound like “*asshole* cousin…”

“… and a total fool, who got the position thanks to an old school chum, who, in turn, went to Eli David for a favor. We’ve got all the proof we need to convict Ivanov, Duval, Paddington and Charnas on multiple charges. We have enough on Murphy and Roget as well to convict on corruption and selling secrets. Sokolov has also been a little too sloppy to get away with corruption… all three have, no doubt lured into being careless by the ease with which they were able to manipulate and blind DuPont as to their activities and true loyalties. There are others guilty of more minor felony offenses… some, like Murphy, are complicit in the zed trafficking we’ve been seeing the past few months. But these are the dangerous and connected ones.” Hetty passed a folder to AJ who perused it with a sour look on his face. 

“What a mess… we knew the IOA was completely and totally incompetent, but this… it’s FUBAR for sure. Not that the IOA is even an issue any more after this morning… I’ll take this with me to Washington and get Jack to decide who we arrest, and who we try and get to lead us to bigger fish. Good call on Charnas… I want that SOB Eli David. I want him bad.”

Å 

The meeting was interrupted by alarms and a PA announcement, “Unscheduled off-world activation!” which Chegwidden totally ignored, as did his few people present (even little TJ seemed oblivious), unlike the visitors from NCIS and the FBI.

TJ slept through the first part, anyway. But when there was a clanking of metal, a sudden roar, and then wet slopping sounds… the baby’s eyes snapped open and he let out a wail. Little arms and legs began waving and kicking, the noise he made enough to drown out even the noises in the corridors and rooms around them, suddenly filled with soldiers and activity. 

And then the conference room door slammed open, the screech TJ put up intensified, and a small woman with honey-colored skin and flame red hair stood there, gorgeous, terrifying and absolutely *livid*, with a small crowd of equally angry people behind her.

“Leroy Jethro second ‘B’ for bastard Gibbs, give me my son!” she demanded.

Å 

There was absolutely no denying Teyla Emmagen, ‘momma Tey’, and Gibbs didn’t even try. Her fulminating glare and curt, “I’ll deal with *you* another time,” was enough of a threat, all on its own. Gibbs couldn’t take his eyes off her… Too much of a presence in every way to be ignored. With red hair and coffee-and-cream skin, dark almond-shaped intent eyes, she was ferocious with danger, power and strength. Once she had the baby in her arms, TJ instantly stopped his wailing cries, and settled to mild complaints which she attended to immediately. Ignoring every male in the place, she immediately sat in a chair, dropped a shoulder of her tunic, and began calmly breast-feeding her hungry son. By turns interested and appalled, the men at the table averted their eyes, or at least tried to.

It gave the vanguard who entered with Teyla the opportunity to introduce themselves and settle at chairs of their own. 

Colonel Samantha Carter, a blonde woman with an intimidating and commanding presence of her own, was apparently the ranking military rep of the group, second in command at this table only to Chegwidden himself. She was flanked by a huge black man with a gold tattoo on his forehead (Gibbs thought Abby would be intrigued, to say the least), who bowed with impressive gravitas and named himself “Master Teal’c of Chulak.” So… alien? Oo-kaay… Gibbs had to admit it really was a new day.

There were two more Colonels with Carter. Sheppard, a Chair Force jet jockey if ever Gibbs had seen one, was all slouches and non-reg unruly hair. The other, Mitchell, had the same cocky strut and attitude down, but was a little more regulation and by-the-book. 

Then there were the civilians… 

Dr. Rodney McKay came equipped with a baby of his own, Meredith Joy, and an ego bigger than the state of Colorado, as far as Gibbs could see. He had science geek written all over him… but was also disconcertingly alert, evidently field-trained from his physical fitness and wariness. He was treating this base like a foreign in-country mission. He had a cat trailing behind him, which startled Gibbs a little. He belatedly realized DiNozzo had had a cat with him at the hotel too, two cats in fact. A little calico and a big orange marmalade. McKay stayed within touching distance of Colonel Sheppard, and Gibbs would have had to be blind to miss that they were an item. McKay came with another shadow, however, a giant of a man, with a fulminating stare and dreadlocks stuck with knives and probably less obvious weapons. Another alien? Check. Ronon Dex. 

The last member of Teyla’s tribe to enter was Dr. Spencer Reid himself. Rather burstingly pregnant, and with a grey tabby cat of his own at his heels. Gibbs had to confess to being a little impressed by the young man. His Arkansas case… at the time, Gibbs had been inclined to admire the feebie’s gumption, courage and strength, not just to call attention to an unendurable injustice being done, but to come out of that mess alive and fighting to keep his position, in spite of the undeserved flack he was getting. More than Gibbs even knew, apparently, although he should have guessed the pregnancy was an unavoidable consequence of the rape he had suffered. And to elect to keep the baby when it would have been so much easier to get himself a quick abortion? Yeah, Gibbs had to respect that decision, along with everything else about the young profiler.

So the young man’s cool, neutral regard was like a slap in Gibbs’ face. *Another* one. 

Oh yeah, he had fucked up, all right. 

Å 

As soon as Spencer sat down, he made as much space as possible on his lap for Bast to join him. The emotions in the room, largely negative and extremely powerful, almost overwhelmed him. But with Cameron beside him, a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Bast purring soothingly under his own nervous hands, he was able to get a handle on himself. 

Teyla was the strongest and least deniable focus in the room, no question, but Gibbs was a close second, and… oh. There were shards and scars there… the man had been a sentinel himself at one time. But trauma and tragedy had soured him, turned him from the path, and those sentinel connections within were all blunted, torn out or dead… okay. Maybe he should have expected something like that. It certainly explained a lot about the former Marine’s complicated and difficult relationship with Tony. 

Admiral Chegwidden quickly took control of the meeting. 

“Colonel Carter, Teal’c, welcome back to Earth.” There were starts from the visitors at that. Having been told some of the truth at least, they still had trouble absorbing what it all really meant. Spencer had every sympathy for them. “As card-carrying members of SG-1, the General would like you to accompany me to DC. Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, you’ll be needed too, for de-briefings and for the First World Defense Initiative. We’re going to try and push that through as soon as possible. I take it Dr. Jackson couldn’t join you? Because if the world is going to want to speak with *anyone*, it’s going to be him…”

Carter huffed a little. “Sorry, Admiral, but Daniel didn’t care to get involved in the media storm. He still thinks the Furlings will try and contact him, and soon. And there’s the unfolding Wraith drama… I’d just as soon have him on Atlantis to help support Richard, Radek and Lorne.”

Several people had opened eyes at that and mouthed back and forth, “Atlantis?”

Spencer just happened to mention, “Yes, our base in the Pegasus Galaxy is, in fact, the lost city of Atlantis, the same as mentioned in Plato. It was built on Earth millions of years ago by an advanced alien race, then flown to Pegasus with its star-drive and abandoned there… sunk beneath an alien sea for the past ten thousand years. The first Expedition sent by General O’Neill and led by Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay found her and raised her to the surface, six years ago. They’ve maintained an outpost on the city ever since.”

He returned Chegwidden’s impatient glare with a mild one of his own. “There’s no sense withholding information at this point, Admiral. Better they get a capsule explanation rather than be left confused. For over six months, I’ve been serving as Agent DiNozzo’s second, back-up and Agent Afloat on the city.”

Sam Hannah, the NCIS Special Operations agent, groaned. “Agent Tommy and Dr. Reed Spencer, zeds and space cops? Riiight.”

Spencer grinned. “Tony and I have written the last two of those books, a third to be released soon. It’s part of a cunning plan, fully endorsed by General O’Neill, to try and prepare the population of Earth for Declassification. Tony’s idea. And yes, they’re abridged versions of a few of our Atlantis cases.”

Former NCIS agent Timothy McGee’s writer alter ego of Thom E. Gemcity was well known to both Fornell and all the NCIS agents in the room. Since they’d all read the last two books, where terms like ‘Stargate’, ‘Lucian Alliance’, the ‘Trust’, ‘ATA gene’ and the like had been explained and described in thorough detail, they suddenly weren’t as much in the dark as they could have been. 

Chegwidden rapped an impatient fist on the table. “Alright, people. General O’Neill is going to want at least some of us in DC ASAP. The rest are going to be tasked with locating and neutralizing the Davids, Eli and Ziva, and recovering Tali DiNozzo, if at all possible. Dr. Reid, anything new we should know on that front?”

“No, sir. I still haven’t been able to contact Tony. But I have seen Luke, so I am certain wherever he is, Tony is alive. If the Lucian Alliance have him, as we believe, they’ll want to keep him alive, at all costs. He’s far more valuable to them that way. There are *very* few people with an ATA gene as strong as his.”

G Callen blinked, glancing at his partner, Sam Hannah. “The stuff in those books about alien DNA in a lot of humans... a DNA key to operate alien tech... that’s true?”

The SGC staff all nodded, waving it off as a mere bagatelle, and Spencer grinned at the shocked newbies. 

The formidable Hetty Lange, noting with a faint smile how impatient and short-tempered the stressed former JAG was getting, inserted herself at this point. “I’m sure we’ll all get up to speed on the... HomeWorld situation at another, more appropriate time. For now... I understand, Dr. Reid, that you can verify Ziva and Eli David may actually still be in Colorado Springs?”

“I believe so. They used the confusion and distraction over HomeWorld being outed in order to get close to Tony and his kids. Eli has... an interest in his only grandchild. That alone may be enough to keep her safe and well until we can locate and retrieve her. She carries a transponder, and so does her cat, so if all else fails, we may be able to find her that way. It’s just a very small signal on a very big planet, and it can be masked or jammed, if you know how, and have the right tech, and the Davids have both. But the David family are known for having multiple agendas in everything they do... I believe they were in Colorado Springs for more than their assault on the DiNozzo family. Tali was able to... convey to me that when they were beamed back to Earth after the kidnapping, Eli and Ziva separated, somewhere in the woods, Eli taking Tali with him. I’m assuming that to be the outskirts of this town. Ziva had a bag with her at the time. It looked like the case for a sniper rifle.”

That created a stir. 

Chegwidden chewed on that, unhappy about it. “Eli’s in the pocket of the Trust. For you new guys, that’s a consortium of techno-terrorists, some alien infiltrators, some local wise-guys, meaning Earth local. They’ve been angling for years to gain superior tech and worm their ways higher into military, science, business and government circles, with the aim to take over the planet. They’ve got off-world assistance and allies in the Lucian Alliance. That’s who’s got Tony DiNozzo, by the by. So... a sniper setting up shop somewhere outside Cheyenne Mountain, you figure? Waiting for any high-value target, or someone in particular?”

Gibbs saw red at the level of betrayals, both big and small, in the woman he had always thought of as a loyal and staunch partner. Even, he cringed to admit it... a surrogate daughter... God, what a blind fool he had been... 

“I don’t think we should wait to find out,” Gibbs declared, a haze of fury coalescing inside him, turning him once again, in Tony’s words, into a Captain Ahab on a vendetta to kill his white whale. “I can find her, if she’s out there.”

Teyla, the alien woman, from the Pegasus Galaxy, for Christ’s sake... and momma Tey… spat out, “We have no need of you, Gibbs. You have done quite enough damage to my family already. This threat is to my mate, my children. At the least, she will know where Tali is. So it is for me to find her. Ronon will assist me. If Spencer will allow, he can come as well, and Cameron. Your presence is unnecessary and may be dangerous to our intent.”

Gibbs tried out his best Boss/Gunny glare, to little avail. “I know Ziva. I taught her all she knows about being a sniper. You want to find her quick? I can point out the nest she’ll be using. And she’ll be watching for threats. She’ll be dug in and well hidden, and it won’t be easy to catch her off-guard. Unless you have me with you.”

Spencer, feeling the situation going from bad to worse, intervened. “Teyla. It’ll shorten the time line and better our chances to have Agent Gibbs help us. We have the topographical maps of the area around the base. And... I think he should be with us.”

Teyla would never have listened to anyone else given the situation, her Protector instincts so strong and overpowering... but now she paused, thought it over, frowning angrily at Gibbs. Then, with all the reluctance in the world, deferred to Spencer. “Very well, Veralin. I yield to your wisdom and sage advice. But Gibbs, know this. We need that woman alive and under arrest. No other outcome is acceptable. If you jeopardise that in any way, I will kill you. You understand?”

“I do.”

“Very well then. Tell us where we must begin to look.”

Å 

AJ collected the team he wanted to take with him to DC, Carter, Teal’c, Sheppard and McKay, and left Colonel Louis Ferretti, pulled off his medical leave for desk duty only, in charge of the SGC. Because of Declassification, all pending missions had been cancelled until further notice, teams currently off-world had been ordered to complete their missions then return to base, as had the ships in the fleet. 

The current priority was finding and arresting Ziva and Eli David, presumed still in the Colorado Springs area. The *Apollo* was scanning for traces of the transponders in Tali’s stuffed rabbit and her cat’s collar, so far without luck. Speculation was that the bunny and collar had already been ditched somewhere.

The resident AFOSI officer, Major Carol Hennessey, was in the town of Colorado Springs, coordinating with local LEOs, FBI agent Aaron Hotchner and his BAU team (who had extensive experience with child recovery cases), and two of Dwayne Pride’s NCIS agents, looking for the abducted child. Two pictures of Tali DiNozzo had been supplied, copied and handed out to everyone, one of a little girl with cinnamon curls, another of the same child, dressed as a boy with black-dyed hair. Part of the description included the calico kitten that was sure to still be in the child’s company, even if the wired bunny wasn’t.

Dr. Alain Thibideau, currently the senior geek in the Mountain, had been called in to work with the teams assigned to the David mission. Ferretti, seeing the somewhat outrageously large group of people claiming an interest, and that was before he tossed SG-13 into the mix as back-up, was glad to leave the whole thing in Colonel Dixon’s logistical support hands. 

Spencer was interested to see that Dr. Thibideau, smiling shyly at him, had a placid tortoiseshell cat at his heels. “Oh, that’s Amelie.”

Spencer smiled and nodded. 

Thibideau gained confidence and assurance as he used his personal laptop to interface with some invisible SGC system. Above the conference table, an impressively solid-looking hologram suddenly appeared, causing many of the visitors to rear back in surprise, then lean forward in wonder. 

“This is a 3D topographical map of Cheyenne Mountain,” Thibideau explained. He tapped a few keys and the map widened to include neighboring features. Then he added labels and comments, a ruler with measurements and distances, elevations, roads, buildings and water sources… 

“Whoa,” G Callen breathed. “Google maps has nothing on this…”

Thibideau smiled. “Thanks. Dr. Reid? Anything else you need?”

Spencer was already studying the schematics, his hands and fingers moving to trace trajectories and sight-lines… Gibbs had stood up beside him, doing the same.

At the same time, two index fingers pointed out the same spot, and two voices declared, “There.”

Spencer and Gibbs exchanged a brief assessing look, then Spencer pointed out a second location, and then a third. He said, “These are also possibilities, but judging by the obstructions and overhangs from the NORAD parking lot, I think them less likely than this one. But I suppose we should check out all three.”

“So tell me this,” Sam Hanna challenged. “With all this alien tech, beaming and scanners and stuff… why can’t you just… scan for Ziva, a heat signature, whatever, and then beam her into the nearest holding cell? No fuss, no muss.”

Thibideau shook his head. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it? But our scanners can’t distinguish between mammals… bear, cougar, elk or human, all of a similar mass, and all found in this region… we’ve had… accidents before. No, you’ll just have to hunt her on the ground.”

Colonel Dixon, team lead of SG-13, used his tach vest radio to advise Colonel Ferretti that they would need two more SG teams to cover the secondary sites identified.

“No, she’ll be right there,” Gibbs said, staring at the spot he and the profiler had identified. “It’s got the best cover, and a back door escape route there, through the woods, if she should get even a whiff of us coming at her.”

Dixon nodded. “Another team to cover that exit. So who all is going with us?”

Fornell and Pride were reluctantly talked into remaining behind with Hetty Lange and Dr. Thibideau, to provide oversight and logistical support. The 3D map could apparently track and display all of their signatures, once the computer had locked on to their life signs. And how amazing and awesome was that?

“This is going to make our job almost too easy, once we have access to this tech,” Pride commented. 

Tobias, the cynic in the crowd, shook his head. “At least until the bad guys get hold of it, too, or the jammers Eli is using to hide Tali.”

Teyla stepped up to Dwayne Pride and said, “You are a father and a Protector, correct?”

“I’m a father, yes ma’am,” Pride agreed, warily, not sure… Protector? Not… Sentinel? A title, once only spoken of in whispers, now being heard more and more often in recent months. 

“Then you will watch my son while I hunt down this enemy and threat to my family. You will guard him with your life, will you not? And return him to me when we are done.” 

Dwayne, only too aware of the responsibility and honor she was granting him, nodded. “Yes ma’am. You can count on it.” He accepted the bundled baby in his arms, finding big ice-blue eyes staring up at him with interest and trust. And with it, too, a soothing feeling of calm and support… the same feeling he got around Sebastian and Trip, leveling out the high-alert almost painfully acute senses he had been riding for this op of Gibbs’. With a smile, he gave little TJ a bounce in his arms, winning a toothless grin in exchange. It had been a while since he held an infant in his arms, but something you never lost the hang of, apparently. 

Å 

In the locker room, everyone pulled on the provided gear, bullet-proof vests, weapons and the like. 

Colonel Cameron Mitchell sidled up to his guide and said, “Maybe you want to sit this one out too, Sunshine. And it’s not just because tromping all over the mountain is going to be hard in your condition. She’s a Kidon assassin, in a snug little nest where she can watch all approaches, she doesn’t like you *at all*, and she’s going to be mean and deadly when we track her down.”

Spencer, already pulling on his tack vest (custom designed and constructed by the Garcia sub-system for maternity, with ample space for incipient twins), checked his pockets as he gave Cameron the insulted look that comment deserved. “And that would be a *bad* idea. Have you counted the number of sentinels we’ll have with us on this op? Without even accounting for SG-13 or the other teams, because I haven’t met any of them yet, there are five online sentinels right here, one on the ragged edge of feral, and one currently dormant, but not so steady himself. Who knows if he could flip back online from the stress? And how many potential guides do we have right now, with the experience and skills to keep everyone grounded, talk them down from feral or out of a sensory zone, with the requisite field qualifications? Oh look, just me. You do the math on that one, Cam.”

With a huff, Cameron backed down, as he should have known he would, so why he even tried… when Spencer became aware of the shocked and appalled fish faces around him. Oh, for… 

“Yes, Gibbs is a dormant sentinel, but I don’t know if he might switch back on, considering how personal this situation is to him. If he does, it’s more than likely he’ll go feral over it. And yes, agents Callan and Hanna, you’re both sentinels too. Teyla and Ronon call themselves Protectors, but it’s the same thing, and Cameron is one too. Get over it. The more the merrier, all things considered.”

Callen and Hanna, long-time partners, must surely have suspected they were both keeping secrets… the same secret… but, judging from their wary glances at each other, maybe not.

Spencer turned to the men in exasperation at their reluctance to admit what they were. “Surely, if there is a time to be done with the secrets, it’s on the day the SGC is Declassified to the world. Now let’s go. And don’t anyone get in Teyla’s way. She’ll rip your heads off, and I won’t stop her.”

Teyla and Ronon bowed in respect. “Yes, Veralin.”

Å 

G Callen and Sam Hanna were given one of the three accessible routes to Ziva’s nest. The partners still hadn’t spoken to each other… but when they stepped into the forested cover at the base of Cheyenne Mountain, and, for the first time, were able to give their extraordinary senses free rein… yeah, that was a relief. No more hiding behind the thin excuses of ‘guesswork’, ‘luck’ or ‘gut instinct’. 

“Shit,” Callen breathed. “I guess it really is a new day.” 

Sam was startled into a grin, as he glanced at his friend, and they both chuckled. And without another word needed, they fell into position and used every advantage they possessed to move soundlessly through the undergrowth. 

Å 

Spencer was a little impatient with all the sentinels. Yes, their hunting skills and enhanced senses were a clear advantage in this instance, to track, locate and contain the David woman. But there was an easier way to go about this, and all he needed was for Cam to get him within range of their quarry. But Gibbs was pressing hard, Teyla was letting him, and even Ronon might not be enough to restrain the two people closest to the edge of losing control out here. 

Spencer had made contact with that mind before, and knew it as soon as he caught the faintest whisper of its cold, damaged twists. 

She was struggling for patience, the first requirement of a sniper, but she figured she had already lost her one and only chance to complete her mission as given. General O’Neill must surely be in DC by now, having bypassed the NORAD front door below her, probably beaming straight to the White House. Now she was ready to cause mayhem, any at all she thought she could get away with. This was true, not just of her immediate mission here on her mountain perch above the NORAD base entrance, but of her entire crumbling life.

Creeping closer, shutting his eyes and letting Cam’s hand on his shoulder guide him forward and around obstacles… 

There.

He entered, took hold, and… 

She slumped forward, and all the sentinels heard it, the soft exhale as she fell unconscious. 

Rushing forward to put her in handcuffs and wrestle her down to the base was anti-climatic, and utterly unsatisfying for at least two of them, still *howling* for payback.

Å 

It had already been made clear to everyone that jurisdiction over Ziva David was for the SGC and HomeWorld Security, not the FBI, nor NCIS. So Hetty sent G and Sam home with a pat on the back and a quiet “Good work” for their efforts. Spencer just happened to mention that they might want to read some of the articles Dr. Blair Sandburg had placed on the Blue Jungle website on the subject of sentinels… and if they knew any zeds where they worked, it might be a good idea to get close to them, especially if they experienced any problems with their now evident gifts. He said it loud enough to be sure agent Dwayne Pride also heard. 

Pride returned baby TJ to his mother, and then he and Fornell left the SGC as well, promising Gibbs that they would stick around at their hotel and wait for him before leaving town. LaSalle and Gregorio had reported no news in their search for Eli and Tali, and Dwayne had to admit it was a long shot anyway, if the SGC woo-woo sci-fi gadgets couldn’t locate them either. He’d sent his two agents back to New Orleans… with just a hint that they might want Sebastian and Patton to point them at a certain website of interest to all three of them.

Meanwhile, Ziva had revived, was cuffed to a chair in an amazingly familiar-looking interrogation room, form following function it seemed, in spite of available alien tech. Gibbs, Teyla, Hetty Lange and Spencer all gathered to watch her through the one-way glass window. 

Since Gibbs had the most experience with interrogation, knew the woman best, and was legendary for his skills, Spencer was perfectly willing to defer to the man and play second chair. He already had permission and signed warrants, emailed from General O’Neill, to use his ‘search and seizure’ talents on their prisoner. In the interests of national and world security, not to mention the welfare of an innocent child in enemy hands. 

So the FBI profiler was a little startled when Gibbs turned to him. “Better be you, Dr. Reid. I… I’m too close. Too… compromised. Oh yeah, compromised beyond the telling of it.”

Well, there was that. Teyla remained stiff and steely-eyed at the window, completely ignoring Gibbs. But she did spare Spencer a glance, and an encouraging nod. She would trust him in this. If that evil woman knew where her mate and daughter were to be found… the Veralin would uncover it.

Å 

Once Spencer had entered interrogation and took a seat, settling himself and not saying a word as he stared at the prisoner, Hetty took a deep breath. 

“So. Jethro. We’ve both heard the rumors of sentinels over the years… hard to work in our line and not. And you, a sniper, legendary in certain circles… we had a conversation about it once, do you recall? About the sentinel myth? I thought you might be one… you said you might have been, once upon a time. But after Shannon and Kelly… you thought you were far too damaged. But it wasn’t really about them, was it?”

Gibbs worked his jaw, staring through the glass at the woman he had trusted… to the exclusion of all else. Every *one* else. Clinging to a dream, a memory, a shadow of what might have been… a daughter he craved in every cell of his body… in defiance of every tickle and wrench his much-vaunted *gut* had given him over the years… 

“He said I’m ‘dormant’. I guess I am. Too much pain, loss, trauma… and then, in a red haze, some of it so clear I can never forget, some of it a vague fog… I’m not really sure how I got there, but suddenly, I was looking through a laser sight and… if a sentinel is anything, he’s a protector, not a killer. He’s about protecting the tribe, not seeking vengeance for himself. I fell right off that path… more than once, over the years…” He glanced at the second diminutive woman beside him, the one holding the baby, his son, to her breast, with red hair and dark almond-shaped eyes, beautiful, exotic, deadly… “I guess I’m lucky you’re a true sentinel, Miss Emmagen. Or I would be dead right now.”

DiNozzo’s mate gave him a hostile glance. “The day is young, Leroy Jethro second ‘B’ for bastard Gibbs. We shall just have to see.”

Å 

It took a few minutes, but then Ziva lifted her face to him, a faint wry smile in place. “Dr. Reid. Gibbs felt he could not face me?”

“He says he’s compromised. He feels a great deal of guilt for what has happened. He intended to capture both you and your father, you know, lure you into a trap with Tali as bait. Unfortunately…”

“He was operating under a number of false assumptions. That’s against his rules, I believe. But then… alien tech… not something he would have planned for.”

“No. What were *your* plans, Ms David? Yours and your father’s?”

“My father traded assistance from the goa’uld Lord Nun for possession of a high-value zed. One with a strong ATA gene and experience working Ancient technologies.” In her guarded thoughts there was another qualification she hoped to keep secret… that the Nun symbiote had wanted a young and attractive vessel to move into. “Once we were delivered back to the planet, Nun intended to return to the Lucian Alliance base. They have an Ancient ship-works they have taken over. Tony will be of value to them there.”

Spencer swallowed with some difficulty, repressing his own feelings on the matter. Tony, a host? It made his blood run cold. He could feel Teyla’s fulminating emotions, just outside, and decided not to mention the host thing. It was bad enough, as it was. Until they discovered the location of this base, or Spencer could finally make contact, Tony was out of reach. But they had other pressing concerns, on this planet. 

“As proof of our allegiance to the Trust, my father was tasked with the assassination of General O’Neill. With the leaks from the IOA this morning, we knew he would surely be recalled from Atlantis by the President. He was supposed to come out the front door of the Cheyenne Mountain facility, to be driven to the air base. We determined that would be our best opportunity. We thought the entire SGC would be distracted, both by the leaks of their project, and the kidnapping of Tony and Talia, and not as wary as they should be.” Ziva shrugged. “There was always the chance O’Neill would call for beam-out instead… I was then to create what havoc I could with secondary targets. Anyone we had identified as high in the SGC organization.”

“Do you know where your father is right now? Where Tali is?”

“My father could be anywhere by now. He would not have remained here in Colorado. More likely he would go to DC. That’s where the action is, correct? And there has *never* been a time, not since I was born, where he thought he owed me even a hint of his plans. I have orders I am expected to carry out, I have suspicions of the agenda he is working from… that is as much as I have ever had. But since I was told to target General O’Neill… finding I have failed, my father no doubt will have a fall-back plan to ensure that goal is achieved, by another, if not by me.”

Word had already been sent to General O’Neill, that he was the probable target of Trust and Lucian assassins. He, and other high-profile potential targets, were taking all possible precautions.

“And Tali?”

Ziva winced. “My father is obsessed with her. His last chance. The rest of us are dead or… less than satisfactory, less than adequate for his plans. I knew it would be thus… that is why I hid her, tried to keep her secret… what he cannot, could never grant any of the rest of us, my mother, my sister, my half-brother, me… he will lavish on her. At least until he decides she is ready for his… special kind of training. Then he will no doubt find her as much of an irritant as Tony was to me. Stubborn, frivolous, immature, annoying… a true DiNozzo,” she finished on a sneer.

Spencer sifted through her emotions, her thoughts… this was the truth. 

“We have information that Eli passed Tali to a woman named Irene. Middle aged, salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a bun, conservative dress, minimal jewelry and make-up, nondescript. Do you know her?”

Ziva frowned. “Irene Steinman? She was our housekeeper for years… in Tel Aviv. She has dual citizenship… Israeli and American. I did not discover until a few years ago that she was also a trained Mossad operative. She has been living in Los Angeles, a handler for west-coast operations.”

Spencer nodded, making notations he didn’t really need, given his memory and the running video recording of this meeting. 

“You haven’t asked what we intend to do with you.”

“Is there a need? I imagine a quick trial and either an equally quick execution, or a very long stay in some off-world prison. But that is above your pay grade, Dr. Reid, and mine.”

Spencer nodded. “It might go easier on you if you are willing to make a full accounting of what you know of Eli’s movements and actions. His contacts. His safe houses. If you are aware of his Trust and Lucian Alliance allies.”

Ziva nodded, totally defeated. “Agreed. The most important, those you should deal with sooner rather than later… The multi-national technology company known as GlobalTech. Their CEO, Vivian Gant, has… an unusual voice, and, occasionally, her eyes… flash. She has no close friends who would have noticed certain behavioral and personality changes in her lately, or would care if they did. She is handling the campaign aspirations of Senator Aubrey Evans, I believe, and holds many military contracts from General Ulysses Stahl of the JCS. Those three should be your highest priority.”

A shiver went down Spencer’s back at this intelligence. How close had the Trust already come to worming their way into the very highest levels of the US government?

Å 

Outside in the observation room, Gibbs sighed and shook his head. It was the truth, he was sure of it. Whether it was complete, he couldn’t say. But for the first time, it seemed Ziva had acknowledged that loyalty to her father would no longer serve her, or anyone. And with that first chink in her armor… question was, would it be enough?

Could Ziva be redeemed, even now, with the right encouragement? Was he a total and complete fool, to hope the answer to that question was… yes? 

He shook his head. That remained to be seen. And considering the present situation, he doubted the woman, spy, assassin, mole, traitor, mutineer, would ever get the chance to prove it. 

Å 

“Gibbs. A word,” Teyla Emmagan demanded. 

With a sigh, Gibbs had to admit, she had a right. More than. He followed her into an empty room nearby. With her sentinel abilities, she probably already knew it was ideal for her purpose.

He glanced somewhat longingly at the baby in the sling across her chest. With a huff, she took TJ out and handed him over to Gibbs. The former gunny was startled and shocked. But he took the baby, all the same, clutching him close, staring hungrily at his sleeping face.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what I want to talk to you about, do you?”

“You want to kick my ass. I don’t blame you. You’re welcome to.”

“Ah. You seek to be punished. After we have completed our discussion, I will be *more* than happy to accommodate you. I am master of a discipline called bantos that I will be happy to demonstrate. It should leave you groaning in torment for days. But that is not why I sought to have private conversation with you. 

“My mate has told me much about you, Gibbs. Second ‘B’ for bastard. He respected you, admired you, sought to learn from you, how to be a better law officer, a better man. He has told me of your many rules, and how you do not always obey them yourself, but hold your people to the highest standard. He understood that, and sought to please you in this, as in everything. And, you must know this, he loved you. The father figure, perhaps, but also the friend he had never had before, someone he could place absolute trust in, only the second lover he dared to reveal himself for. 

“Even now, even after this latest and most heinous betrayal, when by your actions you have managed to rip our family, *his* family, apart... even so, if he were here right now, he would be struggling to find excuses for you. To find some common ground, some compromise that would allow him to forgive you, so he could let you take a place, however small, in his life. Not for himself, because his heart and soul are mine now. Not for you, because you gave up that right before he even met me. But for TJ’s sake. That he should know his other parent. 

“I know this about Tony, even if you do not.

“So I ask you now, Gibbs. Tell me how I may find it in me to forgive what you have done, to trust you enough to let you near *any* member of my family, ever again.”

Never before had Gibbs been so overwhelmed, so ashamed of himself, so choked with regret and loss. Because he knew he had no defense, no answer. And without it, he would never see his beautiful precious little boy again. Another child, another family, lost to him for his own manifold sins.

Gasping, almost blinded by salt tears he had never let fall before, not even at the funeral for his beloved girls, certainly never for any of his ex-wives... “I... I can’t... there’s nothing... you shouldn’t. I don’t deserve it, another chance...”

“Still you look for punishment. I already told you, we will have a bantos session later, and believe me, that will be a far more efficient punishment, far more satisfying for both of us. But that is not atonement, and that is what you should be begging for now, Gibbs. Because you have treated my mate badly, from first meeting, as far as I can see. Tony will not see it, but I do. You have manipulated, used and abused him from the very beginning for your own advantage. You saw in him the man, raw and unpolished, perhaps, but with talents of great value, the fine investigator he already was, destined to be even greater. You sought to tie him to you for those valued skills. But you never valued *him*. Slaps to the head, disrespect, encouraging him to play the clown, not only so others would misjudge and underestimate him, but so they would not steal him from you. Teaching even his own team to treat him with disdain and barely-veiled contempt. But still, he served you faithfully, having your six, backing you up in every way, and finally, laying his heart at your feet. 

“But no, your selfish blindness did not allow you to see the gifts he offered, only took advantage of them to control him, bind him to you, chain him on your leash. Your loyal Saint Bernard, your dog, your pet, kicked again and again to keep him down.”

“True,” Gibbs admitted, writhing at the accusations. It was all true. 

“For which I suppose I must thank you... because when he had finally had enough, he came to me. He will never bend to your will again, Gibbs. But he will still offer you his sincere friendship... if you are not too much of a fool to accept it and honor it as you should. If he manages to survive and return to us at all.”

Gibbs lifted his swimming eyes to the resolute woman, so strong in every way, and so worthy of everything Tony had always had to offer someone who wasn’t a complete and total bastard.

“You... you’ll give me a chance?”

“If you want it, you have it. But only one, so be warned. Fail him this time, and I will kill you myself. And know this, also. You will *never* disrespect Tony in front of his children. *Never*. Now come, second ‘B’ for bastard. I will teach you to respect my word, and my skill with bantos rods.” 

Å


	3. Solitary Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Åuthor Notes: Reference to Criminal Minds episode 3-8-‘Lucky’ and 3-9-‘Penelope’ (Garcia shot by an unsub).

Å 

More than anything, Tony wished he could find his way into the blue jungle right now, to find out what the hell was happening with his kids, where they were, if they were in safe hands or lost and scared… but he was still too jangled from zatting to manage it. Being dragged through the halls of a giant flying pyramid, thrown around by hostile jaffa, and landed abruptly on his knees… well, not helping the situation. 

They were in a throne room of sorts, with a nice big picture window on space, in a small group of assorted prisoners and slaves, also on their knees, hemmed in by a picket of jaffa.

“So… this is Jorac, the big Ancient ship-works?” he quizzed Carson, right beside him. 

“That it is.”

“And all these over-the-top over-dressed rejects from a Bond movie… the Lucians?”

“Right again.”

“And they’re waiting for…?”

“Not sure, really. They’re missing a few of their clan lords if this is another planning summit.”

The woman on the other side of Carson bent over to whisper, “They won’t see clan Hauhet any time soon. They’re on a mission to Pegasus, and haven’t reported back. No one expects they will, either. They’ll either fail utterly and be eaten, or succeed, and return with their new friends the Wraith, to turn on the Alliance.” She was a young woman, dark hair, expressive dark eyes, spoke with a French accent, dressed in eclectic homespun fabrics and leather, and had a ‘Z’ brand on her wrist. “That puts them down to four clans remaining. Kek, Naunet, Nun and Origin. Word is Lord Nun himself is about to arrive.”

Tony was glad he wasn’t drinking milk, or he would be snorting it out his nose right now. “Okay. No matter how many times I hear it… That name was a poor choice, wasn’t it?”

The woman gave a sly grin. “Best not laugh. They say he just executed his entire tel’tak crew for seeing him scratched by a cat.”

“Can’t take a joke?”

“Not even a little bit. I’m Mireille, by the way.”

“Tony. This is Carson. You got a cat?”

Mireille gestured behind her, to a grey tabby with a white face and four white boots. “Call him Jean-Luc.”

“Picard?” when she nodded, grinning, he smiled back. “This big guy’s Luke, that’s Galen with Carson.”

Which was as much time as they were going to be given, when one of their jaffa guards threatened to beat them into respectful silence. 

Tony took careful note of the three guys in one corner with the red capes, keeping apart from everyone else as if they had cooties. Then there was tall, dark and broody over by the big picture window, reminding Tony of the bad guy in the *’Gladiator’* movie. He had quite the vanguard of big, well-muscled, armored types, all with staff weapons in hand and black tattoos on their foreheads, all different designs, but most some kind of sigil like Roman eagles. Then, on the throne, yes, throne, was a woman with dark red hair, braided and twisted into weird, elaborate shapes, who made Tony think irresistibly of the Cercei Lannister character in *’Game of Thrones’*. Beautiful, deadly, absolutely ruthless, a born criminal psychopath… or politician, take your pick. And, as if that were not enough, his old pal Timur Shelyapin, murderer, saboteur and Lucian mole, was standing at the woman’s side, their sibling relationship all too clear now in their resemblance to each other. 

In at the entrance to this cavernous room, came a new company. At the head was a man in a grey business suit, and if it wasn’t Armani, it was a pretty decent knock-off. Yeah, that was ex Vice President Robert Kinsey, now host to the goa’uld, Lord Nun. Narrowing his eyes and knowing what to look for, Tony could see three parallel marks across that familiar face… covered by makeup, or pink from too-recent healing? Feeling everyone in the room focusing on those faint marks, the goa’uld stiffened and scowled. Apparently, the symbiote inside had less of a sense of humor than his human host was reputed to have. 

“Ookaay…”

No wonder the guy was looking for a new suit of clothes… if only to shake off the humiliation he was feeling right now, as powerful as the heat from a tanning lamp. And, honestly, if you could pick any body to inhabit, why go for an old fart like Kinsey, no matter what influence the discredited politician may once have had? What Bas’er had said made perfect sense to Tony. That face was instantly recognizable anywhere on planet Earth. Any reports of his walking around, big as life, when he was supposed to be dead for years, would bring the whole of the HomeWorld Security directorate down on his Goa’uld-infested head. Yeah, there was no going undercover with that face on him… he’d definitely need a new one. 

And guess who he had chosen.

Tony could feel sweat popping on his skin as he remembered a few of the things Vala had told him about her experiences as a host to the Goa’uld Qetesh. Her tongue had been loosened by liberal applications of alcohol, before she could bring herself to re-visit those nightmares. Tales of watching as her hands tore people apart, her voice ordered the murder of countless more, her body the toy of another, herself shoved into one very dark corner to scream and cry in vain. 

Oh *hell* no!

As soon as Kinsey/Nun entered, and had bowed minimally to the woman on the throne and merely nodded to the other clan heads, his attention fastened on Tony. Greedy eyes and clutching fingers in his fists. Tony could feel the avarice and gloating from where he knelt, helpless and hopelessly out-numbered. In an automatic flinch of self-defense, he clutched at Luke, throwing up a mental wall to fend off those nasty alien impulses.

Kinsey seemed briefly distracted by Mireille, when his eyes glanced over her, but after a frown, he shrugged and totally ignored her. Mireille herself had stiffened… then relaxed when it was evident he had no attention to spare for her. 

“Perhaps we all look alike to him…” she muttered under her breath.

Nun declared in his deep, resonating Goa’uld voice, “I will have my new host returned to me now, Lord Lanis.”

“No,” said the Cercei Lannister look-alike.

The Goa’uldy eyes flashed with ire. “What did you say?”

“A Goa’uld Lord in a zed body? That is too much power for one being, Lord Nun. I do not think it wise to allow it. Like taking a harcesis for a host, it would give you access to too much, too easily. Pick another host. We have slaves in plenty, if all you want are those charming dimples and those pretty green eyes in a younger and far more pleasing form than your current one. But… with the rebellious and stubborn natures of these Tau’ri zeds… I would not be averse to having a younger, far more minor symbiote take command of his in-born qualities as a host.”

Kinsey/Nun’s eyes narrowed. “It would make of a new symbiote a rival. That *I* cannot allow.”

“Even if the primta were young enough? Perhaps, in time, it might develop enough to challenge you... So swap symbiotes and keep the host, your servants ever too young and inexperienced, without sufficient support from others to become a true threat to you.”

Kinsey/Nun thought about that for a moment… then shrugged. “Very well.” 

He barked out something in Goa’uld, with a “Jaffa Kree!” tacked on the end, and one of his soldiers stepped forward, looking rather neutral. As if not certain he would be provided with a new symbiote to sustain him, once he gave up the maturing one within him. As far as Tony knew, there were very few, if any, goa’uld queens left to spawn replacements.

Tony took stock quickly… unless a miracle happened… and none seemed to be going spare at the moment… he might as well die running for his life as sit here and let them turn him into a monster.

He jumped up and bolted, only to be taken down almost at once by a good six tattooed line-backers in armor, and all of them began tearing the clothes from his body. He had worn a civilian sport coat and slacks for his meeting with Gibbs, shirt, tie, undershirt… all gone or cut off him in a moment… until he was naked, spread out, spread-eagle on his stomach on the shiny polished marble floor of the space-ship. It was chillingly cold, his flesh against the slick and icy marble. He had lost track of where his leather belt had gone… the special one he always wore, with the knife cunningly concealed in the belt buckle. And there went his last hint of a weapon to use to get himself out of this mess. Someone was sitting on his legs, others holding his arms out, another grabbing his head so he couldn’t even twist to see what was happening behind and above him… 

He heard the squeals of an animal, high-pitched and piercing through his head, even over the yowls of at least half-a-dozen cats… and in the reflections in the floor, he could see it, a sea snake, dark scales, fins fanned out like wings, four-part pincer mouth clacking and biting at air, writhing and twisting in Kinsey/Nun’s hands… 

“Ah, this is an eager one!”

Tony could feel it… alien, slimy, furious and merciless, every bit as greedy and avaricious as Nun had felt…

He screamed out, “No!” and he was almost sure he heard other voices echoing the same horrified denial. He certainly felt it, as one by one, three more zed minds cracked open and spilled their horror around them… 

And then there was silence… except for his own sharp gasping sobs, even as he fought and struggled uselessly, unable to move.

“What happened?” Cercei demanded. “Is it dead?” 

There was a wet splat, and he could see it out of his peripheral vision now, the limp body of the snake, something blue and putrid leaking out of that alien mouth. 

And he didn’t know why he only remembered this now… a story Vala had told, about Qetesh and Baal back on Earth in ancient times, discovering that Goa’uld symbiotes were allergic to something in the ‘Z’ chromosome. That zeds could influence them, even kill them, with the right motivation. Well, Tony sure was motivated, all right!

“Do you have another primta mature enough for implantation?” asked tall, dark and broody from the window, only now showing any interest in the proceedings. “If not, one of my jaffa has one.”

“No!” said Tony and Nun together. 

Nun pursued, “Yield this prize to be yours, Commodus? No. This zed is mine. There are rumors he has mental powers. Perhaps he was able to use them. He must be subdued with a zat, and we will try to implant again. But it must wait, because he recently absorbed one zatnikitel blast. A second so soon will kill him, and that is not a desired outcome, not at all. You might try your progeny on another of these?”

Tony concentrated hard, reaching, reaching… no, no more experiments on zeds, not now…

“Another time, perhaps,” decided a bored-sounding Cercei. “Tell us, instead, how goes your plan to de-stabilize Earth.”

And get us out of here, Tony demanded, focusing in spite of the crushing headache, to add to the zat hang-over. You don’t want to look at our faces…

“Oh, and take these slaves away, will you, someone?” barked out the Roman lord. “I can no longer stand to look upon them.”

Together, all of us together, not locked up in a cell…

“Put them in with the rest of the zed slaves for now,” Cercei offered negligently, as if in an after-thought.

And get me some pants.

“Have this one clothed,” Nun commanded. “I cannot take him anywhere in this state. He is too much of a temptation, and I will permit no other to partake.”

Gee, thanks, Nun. 

Spencer was better at these sorts of mental gymnastics than Tony was, and now he had a raging headache to go with the persistent jangle of the zat-blast, and the bruising and aches from that nasty little scene. But then Luke’s big furry head was pushing under his hands, and Tony could only sigh in relief, even as he was dragged off and a couple of pieces of rough-woven cloth were tossed over his still-limp body.

“Easy, lad!” Carson warned, helping him to sit up, groaning with the effort, and helping him pull on the tunic, get his feet into the loose and slightly scratchy pant-legs. “That was a narrow escape. Do you think that trick will work if they zat you first?”

Tony could only shrug as he struggled to pull up the draw-string waist-band. “Probably not, but even once it’s inside, I think maybe they don’t like the ‘Z’ chromosome all that much. I may be able to talk it into bailing out of me again.”

“We can only hope.”

Å 

Colonel Ferretti had obliged Spencer with a pass out of the Mountain, once Ziva David had been secured in a cell. The FBI profiler changed into civvies, maternity slacks, button-down shirt with a liberal overhang, purple tie sitting crooked, and his familiar sweater-vest, stretched in places, but luckily it was a knit with lots of give to it. 

Grogan drove him down to a hotel in town where his former team were camped out, doing what they could with the investigation into the DiNozzo abductions. 

As Spencer crossed the hotel lobby, most people steered out of his way, the gloss of their minds with ‘don’t know him, nothing to do with me’ blinkers, forgetting him the moment they passed by. A few smiled at him, registering his pregnancy, nodding with sincere congratulations to the prospective parent. Then there were just a couple of assholes, there always were in every random crowd, who sneered with a sub-vocal ‘freakin’ fuck ‘ems!’, and hurried by to avoid the contaminating contact. Their nebulous distaste was colored by fear of the unfamiliar, the different, interpreted always by the lizard hind-brain as a potential threat. They didn’t bother to examine their own logic on that, merely let it dominate them. But Spencer was getting *very* good at determining who was a real danger to him, and who could be totally ignored. Here, he was safe enough from anti-zed reprisal.

JJ Jareau found him first, with a squeal of delight, launching herself at him and hugging him gingerly. “Look at you! My God, Spence, you look ready to pop at any minute!”

“I’m hoping I’ve got a few weeks still. Because of the potential complication from twins, and the stargate journey to another galaxy being a bit… rough, the SGC medical staff want me to stay here in Colorado Springs until the birth. Getting here was a bit harder on all three of us than I realized it would be. Also… I haven’t been able to locate Tony yet. And… is mom still coming? Maybe it would be best to keep her here, state-side, for a little while, to see if the treatments work.”

JJ nodded, attempting to look serious and properly consider his plans, but the grin of happiness kept getting away on her. “I’m just so glad to see you. Garcia’s going to be so jealous!”

“Well, if I’m going to be here for a few weeks anyway, I’m sure we can manage to get together one way or another.”

“Pretty Boy! Lookin’ good, little bro!” Derek Morgan had waited long enough for his turn, wrapping Spencer in a tight hug of his own. And the youngest profiler could admit, he had missed these big bear hugs. He thought he heard, distant and nebulous, the sound of a trumpeting elephant.

“I heard you had a hard time in the beginning, Derek. Did those articles I sent help at all?” That had been a major concern for him, when he realized that Derek’s sentinel abilities were causing him issues in the field.

“Hey, they were great. I’ve had a few phone calls with Dr. Sandburg and Detective Ellison, and that helped too. Savannah’s got a good handle on me when I’m home, and Tara’s been great in the field. I’m covered, bro. Don’t you go worrying about me.”

BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner lingered in the background with Dr. Tara Lewis, looking his usual uber-serious and reserved self. But Spencer could sense the powerful emotions in his old boss. A touch of guilt and chagrin over the failure of their plans to keep the DiNozzos safe, and relief that his youngest team-mate looked so healthy and happy. Disentangling from Derek, Spencer faced Hotch and smiled. 

“We caught Ziva David. I hope someone told you? We’re keeping her under guard at the Mountain for now, she has intel we need. The fact she managed to get by everyone, you, all the NCIS people lurking around… not your fault, Hotch. She had… ways and means we couldn’t have planned for, since we didn’t think she could get this far. And as soon as I can, I’ll be able to contact Tony and check on him. Tali is safe for the time being, until we can reach her, and TJ is with Teyla. So… it’ll work out. I’m sure of it.”

Hotch nodded curtly, staring at the young man who had grown so much over the years. “Spencer, I have to tell you… how *proud* we all are of you.”

The use of his given name… it was almost enough to throw Spencer into tears. “Thank you, Aaron. That… means a lot to me.”

Å 

The original plan had called for JJ to fly back to DC to supervise the transfer of Diana Reid to Colorado Springs. But with Spencer waiting, Penelope Garcia and David Rossi had ‘amended’ those plans to escort the woman themselves on an FBI jet Section Chief Mateo Cruz had made available. So, in a matter of hours, the whole team was re-united on the tarmac of the Colorado Springs airport. Rossi grinned like the proud and happy uncle-in-waiting he was. Garcia squealed and patted Spencer’s tummy, rubbing when she felt the active little kicks and squirms of the twins, as if greeting her. 

Spencer had known from their first meeting that Penelope Garcia was zed, although it appeared in no report, medical, biographical, human resources personnel file, in any database anywhere. Well, of course not, there was no automated system anywhere on the planet Garcia couldn’t reach to purge of offending personal details she wanted hidden. She must have been tested in infancy, must have been branded since she was born in the States, but… there was not the faintest scar marring her wrist now. He had never asked how she managed that, didn’t really care to know. Her gender status, and his, was, perhaps, the least important aspect of their relationship. 

The fact she had Sergio, her black cat, with her constantly now, was far more interesting to him. He wasn’t sure why she hadn’t made it to the blue jungle glade, because surely, after her near-death experience of being shot in the chest by an unsub, she could qualify as a shaman? He made a personal note to question her about that when they had a private moment. If she didn’t realize she could walk that path, Spencer would enlighten her. If anyone deserved to be hailed as Furalin and offered the skills training of a shaman, surely it was the elemental force of nature that was Penelope Garcia. 

Even his mother, bemused as she was, was fascinated by that colorful and vibrant personality. Whatever fears and panics the damaged woman may have felt, being uprooted from her safe hospital room and transported by her least favored method, Garcia had managed to overwhelm by the sheer force of her enthusiasm, and constant chatter about Spencer, and how good it would be for Diana to re-unite with her son. 

Spencer approached his mom as she climbed down the jet steps, warily sending out a mental test to see how she was doing. He feared she wouldn’t remember him at all, after so long apart. He expected disorientation, at the very least… but with his Furalin abilities, he could now feel the gaps and stutters of her mental path-ways. Shadows and phantoms of visual and auditory information sought to collect, over-write and alter her primary sensory input. Wiggles, mistakes and twists in her mind could sink her into paranoia and real-seeming hallucinations. The dementia was interfering with that in some ways, making it difficult for coherent thoughts to connect up over the blockages between synapses, but aiding in others, as Diana’s vivid imagination leapt to fill in disconcerting blanks. 

Spencer ‘reached’… pulling at memories she had lost and connecting them so that she would at least recognize her son, and remember why he was in his current ‘delicate condition’. He found one old memory she held particularly dear, of a tiny Spencer, walking on the top of a rail fence, attempting to train as a tight-rope walker. That brought a smile to her face, and made it the easier for him to… re-order her thought processes enough to help her find lucidity. 

“Crash,” she said as she reached out to fold him in her arms. “My Crash. How could I have forgotten?”

Å 

By the time Spencer had his mother signed into the Mountain, she was clearly struggling to hang on to sanity and coherence, in spite of his help. Oddly, she seemed to realize what he was doing, and made the effort to assist. Or maybe not so oddly. He had never before had such a dramatic appreciation of the force of his mother’s intellect, even clouded as it was by disease and synaptic deterioration. 

“Mom. I need to tell you that I have found a… radical and experimental procedure that I think may help you. Do you remember telling me once, that you were glad I was a dual-gender zed, because you believed we were more robust biologically, and had natural resistance to a lot of chronic illnesses and genetic weaknesses?”

“Yes, of course. You feared you would inherit my schizophrenia, maybe even my predilection for early onset dementia. But as a zed… you said there were no numbers to support it, that no one had ever bothered to collect the data. But… yes, I remember that, Spencer.” She seemed relieved that some memories were still hers to access. 

“Well, in my new position, with the SGC, I have discovered the critical difference between a Z-positive single gender and a dual-gendered zed. There is an additional genetic sequence that determines a fully dual-gendered zed. Since this sequence is of value in interfacing with powerful alien technology, the SGC was experimenting with gene splicing and gene therapy to give this sequence to volunteers… zeds already have this sequence, and when it was given to Z-positives, it turned them dual-gendered within a year or two. Mom, I think we can give you this therapy, and, along with an extra set of genitals, it *may* have a beneficial effect on your other conditions. I can’t guarantee that, of course, but if it works, even a little, to slow the rate of progress, or gives you even a little relief from symptomology…”

With a sad smile, Diana took Spencer’s flailing hands in hers. “Spencer… sweetheart. If you think this is worth a try, then go ahead. I haven’t much to lose, at this point. There’s too much I’m going to lose anyway, if we do nothing.”

“It will give you dual genders…” 

“Not an issue, dear, you know that. All I want at this point is to be here for Dimmy and JJ to be born. And to *remember* it. Nothing else really matters to me. So go ahead and sign me up as a volunteer. And if it *does* happen to work…” she gave him a sly smile. “Imagine the chaos it will cause in medical circles! A cure for dementia and schizophrenia, and who knows what else, as a side effect of becoming a full zed? I can hardly wait for that one to hit the world like a tsunami!”

Å 

Mireille, the French zed, kept close to Carson and Tony, her hands on Jean-Luc, scratching behind ears and along his jaw, drawing a luxurious purr from him. Galen and Luke were also attentive. And Tony could hardly miss the fact that three of the ship’s Egyptian-statuary-like cats were creeping up and getting friendly with three more of the slaves. The Lucian Alliance ‘holding pen’ on this ship was a large room with an arching entrance without doors, but bracketed by large jaffa guards. There were thirty-four zeds altogether, including the three of them, and cats lounging all over. But only their three and the three more for the newly opened Furalin seemed to be familiars. The others just liked hanging out around zeds, apparently.

Carson talked to a few of the demoralized zeds, but they didn’t know a whole lot. They had either been kidnapped or sold, some turned over by their own families or government authorities, held in staging areas in nearby urban centers, then passed along to these space pirates. As far as any of them knew, they were the only captives off-planet, apart from maybe a dozen more on the various ships the Lucians had managed to get running. The Earth-bound connection in the zed trafficking enterprise, the Trust, seemed to be hoarding zeds of their own. Not everyone who had been taken with them had ended here. Since Jorac was their main staging area for Ancient salvage, there would be little point keeping them elsewhere, when zed crews were needed on flight-worthy repaired or completed ships. 

All of them had been tested with various alien tech, to see if they could work it, and to what extent. And while their ATA genes did enable them to turn on most items, control was a different matter entirely. The bigger and more dangerous the tech, the harder it was to control, as if the Ancients had built in some kind of graduated level of security on weapons and space ships. Unfortunately, so the slaves who had been here longest told them, there was never any warning of when a zed’s competence would cut out, and cause some more or less catastrophic, and almost inevitably fatal, accident. Carson glanced at Tony when it became clear to them both that the Lucians had not yet realized that the determining factor was the presence of a familiar, to help stabilize and focus their mental strength. Not something either of them were in a hurry to discuss aloud.

With every noise and movement out in the corridor beyond their accommodation, Mireille stiffened and seemed more alert. Tony shared a glance with Carson. 

“You… expecting someone?” Tony inquired. 

Mireille tossed him a quick grin. “Maybe. You recovered enough to be able to run, if necessary?”

“Oh yeah. I’m pretty damned fast on my feet.”

“There’s no point,” sighed one of the others. “Even if we could escape, where would we go? Back to Earth? The people who sold us into this hell in the first place? Who have abused and persecuted and oppressed us since the beginning of time? What makes that any better than this?”

No wonder there were no doors, gates, locks or force fields keeping them inside the pen, Tony thought. You wouldn’t need one if the prisoners themselves knew there was nowhere else to go. 

Mireille shook her head, grin widening. “There is another option, I promise you. But… it is your choice, of course. Always. I work for one who guarantees us all respect, fair treatment and free will, no matter our gender. If that sounds good to you… come with me when I give the word. And, Dr. Carson, we were asked to keep an eye out for you in particular. I can offer you a route home. There was also mention of an American airman supposed to be with you?” 

Carson shook his head sadly. “Airman Wayne Cartwright. Dead, I’m afraid. In one of those testing accidents.”

Mireille nodded solemnly. “A pity. We will mourn our brother properly at a better time.”

Å 

Tony kneaded Luke’s furry self, feeling himself relaxing, at last, the lingering effects of the zat and the emotional upheaval of his near-implantation by a Goa’uld leaving him a little sore and achy, but a lot more relaxed. Finally, *finally* he thought he was ready to meditate, so he could make contact with the spirit plane. He was nearly frantic, needing to know what had happened to his kids once he was taken out of the equation. Tali had been with him in Ziva’s beam-out, along with Oma and Luke, but there had been no sign of them aboard Nun’s tel’tak. Had they beamed back to Earth? Transferred to some other vessel? He needed to know! If Ziva had taken Tali back to Earth, he couldn’t imagine what the woman would do next. Surely, no one had been stupid enough to hand either TJ or Tali over to Senior! Hotchner wouldn’t have allowed it, even if Gibbs did. 

Collecting himself into a lotus position, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, waited for Luke to climb into his lap. Then another calming, focusing breath… 

Å 

… and opened his eyes on blue shades. 

“Tony! Oh thank god. You okay?”

Spencer was there, Bast a fierce cougar at his side, while Luke had formed into his usual coyote, doggy tongue lolling out of his grinning mouth. 

“The kids, Spencer! Where are my kids?”

“They’re both safe, Boss. TJ is with Teyla. We took Ziva down, she’s in a cell at Cheyenne Mountain, reporting Eli’s actions for the Lucians and the Trust. We hope she’s spilling everything she knows… I’ll check on her later to verify there’s no deception there, no will to stall or mislead, no secrets withheld.”

“Senior? He didn’t try and take custody?”

“No, no. Hotch convinced him he would be better off returning to New York empty handed. There were no charges we could reasonably make against him… he claimed he had no idea what Ziva was planning, and it’s his word against hers, so… so we threatened him with civil suits instead. He won’t be back to try anything like that again. With Declassification, the President has verified he supports your custody of your kids. But Tony, where are you? Are you safe?”

“As safe as I can be for the moment. I’m at the Lucian base orbiting Jorac, the Ancient ship-works they recovered. Carson’s with me, along with thirty two other zeds they’ve been trafficking. We’ve made contact with a woman who seems to have an escape plan for us… No details yet, but keep a good thought. But… You’re waffling Probie,” Tony warned heatedly. “What aren’t you telling me? Tali? Where is she?”

Spencer sighed. “Come on. We can go find her, on this plane, anyway. I’ve already spoken to her… I’ll catch you up on the way.”

Tony listened with horror to Spencer’s briefing. “Eli? Eli David has my little baby? My god!”

A roar in the undergrowth enabled Spencer to lead the distraught father to the bushes where Tali had made herself a little den, with Oma, a huge and ferocious lioness, guarding the entrance.

“Tali? Baby? Daddy’s here, baby.”

With a cry of relief, Tali launched herself into her father’s waiting arms. “Daddy! I mis-sed you!”

“I know, baby. I missed you too, something terrible. Are you okay, sweetie?”

“I want to go home!”

“I know, baby. I’m trying my best. Do you know where you are?”

“In a car. Dodah Irene is taking us somewhere. Zaydeh Eli is going to meet us, she says.”

“Okay. Can you see anything out of the car windows? Anything you recognize?” 

“Oh. It’s not that kind of car.”

“What do you mean, baby?”

“It’s white and blue streaks out the window. So pretty. Like ribbons.”

Tony glanced at Spencer. “A tel’tak? Shuttle?”

“We thought they were on Earth. Irene Steinman is ex-Mossad, one of Eli’s operatives. We thought he was staying on Earth to work with the Trust. But he does have contacts with the Lucian Alliance…”

“Yeah, the Goa’uld Lord Nun, of all ridiculous names, seems to be his go-to guy. At the moment, Nun is still in the host body of former Vice President Robert Kinsey, although probably not for much longer. I think Nun realized such a notorious host is a major disadvantage to his freedom to come and go as he likes on Earth.” 

“Hunh. No kidding. Okay… I guess we need to come up with a plan to extend our search for Tali off-world…”

Tony cringed, as the most obvious plan came to him. Oh, Teyla was *not* going to like this… “Yeah, well, I think I’m better placed at the moment to run an undercover op on the Lucians. Sooner or later, Eli is going to end up wherever Nun is. And, at the moment, Nun is determined to keep me close.”

Spencer, predictably, could only look alarmed at this news. “Tony…”

“She’s my baby, Spencer. The universe is too damn big. This is our best, maybe our only shot to get to her. No matter what, I have to find her.”

With a sigh, Spencer could only nod and allow Tony this. 

Å 

When Tony came out of his ‘trance’, it was to take another deep breath. He looked up at Mireille’s concerned dark eyes. 

“Okay. What’s the plan?”

Å 

The guards had brought in water and snacks at some point, then left for their posts. Not that they seemed particularly attentive. With a bunch of humans who seemed disinclined to revolt in any way, their level of vigilance was dropping by the minute. 

It started with the barest detectable jostle in the floor… and Mireille grinned. She cocked her head to one side as she listened. Tony could also hear it now, the distant sound of zat blasts, staff-weapons fire, and other more… organic thuds and squelches that had him wincing in reflex. 

Then the guards at the door, only now stiffening with the realization that maybe they should be taking more care, suddenly dropped. One was sizzling with the tell-tale electric blue lightning of a zat, while the other fell, screaming, clutching a thigh where an arrow protruded.

“Hey gang!” announced a happy voice, unmistakably American. “We’re here to rescue you! Harry Maybourne’s the name, but you can call me King Arkhan the First. Or, you know, Your Majesty will do. Mimi? You here, my pet?” 

Mireille jumped forward with a laugh. “Right here, *monseigneur*! I think we’ve rounded up all the zeds they have here. Oh, and Dr. Carson Beckett. The airman we were also told to look for is dead, unfortunately.”

“Oh. Too bad. At least we’ve got Jack’s doctor friend. That ought to make him happy.”

Harry Maybourne, AKA King Arkhan the First, was a middle aged man with the vestiges of a long and varied black ops career clinging to him like a bad smell. He was obviously an expert with hand weapons, but maybe a little past being able to handle a three, or even four-minute mile. At his side were a phalanx of very competent looking guards, most of them female, wielding a wide collection of weapons. At least some of them obviously liberated in this rescue op. 

“Well, come on, everyone! Time’s a wastin’, and these idiots won’t stay blind and ignorant for long. We need to move. I’ve got the *Grande Reine* anchored just outside. So step up to be beamed to safety and freedom. I can positively *guarantee* that you will be forever honored and loved on the free world of Arkhan. Or, you know, we can send you back to Earth, if you insist… but, personally, I wouldn’t trust *any* of those bastards an inch where zed rights are concerned. Now me, I’m all for you guys, Gender Schmender! So step up. A new life of freedom and respect awaits, and maybe even a career as space adventurers! Hail the Furalin!”

The dark haired woman who was evidently the captain of his guard, was herding the zed slaves into a circle and then clicking a signalling device of some sort for a white light to blanket and remove them in clumps of four or five. Along with an unreasonable number of cats slinking in around everyone’s ankles. Mireille went with the first lot, with a jaunty wave at her fellow rescuees. It was a neat and efficient operation, and Tony had to congratulate the man on that. 

Carson glanced as Tony hung back, though, hesitating and letting the other victims beam to safety and freedom first. Then, soon enough, it was just Harry, the guard captain, Tony and Carson.

“Well?” Harry challenged, waving them over to the staging area. “Come on, come on. Our cloak is pretty damn good, but even the Lucians should be catching a clue about now. We have to *go*.” 

“Oh thank god,” Carson sighed, collecting Galen in his arms, then looking around at Tony, confused when the agent afloat stepped back another foot. “Tony? Come on, lad!”

“I can’t, Carson. Tali’s out there somewhere. Eli David has her. Unless I miss my guess, they’re coming here. I have to stay.”

“Tony! You’ll be the only zed left to them! They want to stick a Goa’uld symbiote in your head! You don’t know how much you can count on zed genetics to save you! Lad, you’ve got to come with us!”

“She’s my baby, Carson. I can’t just leave her. And no one else has any chance of bringing her home. I have to do this, no matter the risk. Tell Tey… tell her…”

Carson nodded sadly. “She’s a Protector, lad. She’ll understand.”

“I hate to break up this touching farewell,” Harry interrupted, “but we have to *go*! *Now*! Anything we can do for you before we go, kid? Any messages you want us to carry?”

“Actually… I lost my knife. Rule nine. Never go anywhere without a knife. You got one to leave me?”

Harry gave a lop-sided grin. “Good rule. Gerran, my love, you have just the thing, I believe? Don’t worry, we’ll get it replaced first thing when we get home.”

The Captain smirked at her king, then bent to remove a nicely concealed holster from her thigh, leather with a strap and buckle to attach around the leg, holding the bone hilt of a very nice sharp-edged weapon indeed. It looked to be perfectly balanced for throwing with accuracy. Niiice. Tony grinned in appreciation. He would wait for privacy to attach it to his own thigh, under the loose pants for concealment. 

“Catch you in the blue jungle, Carson,” Tony waved as Harry, Gerran and the good doctor disappeared in a flash of light.

Yeah, this was a bad idea, all right, but… did he have any choice? Not that he could see…

Looking around the empty and echoing room, with just the distant groans of the arrow-shot guard for company, Tony sighed heavily. 

“Sorry about this, Luke. But I’ve got to take the best shot we have to find Tali.”

Å


	4. House on Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Åuthor Notes: Reference to Stargate SG-1 episode 9-1-‘Avalon part I’ (Vala uses *kormac* bracelets, Goa’uld version of hand-cuffs, on herself and Daniel to link them together).

Å 

Baal was furious. It had all been going so well for him, too, sneaking up by gradual and invisible degrees on his true goals… until that annoying, clumsy, larval worm Nun showed up in his Kinsey suit, with his grandiose, and unacceptably risky plans for world domination. 

Well, look at them now. 

‘Outing’ the SGC? Backfired. Big time. 

Turned out, the entire First World, the version in this reality, at least, *adored* the idea of space adventures and playing with aliens. Personally, Baal was blaming the World Wide Web for that… there seemed to be an inordinate number of voices on the internet, fans all of *’Star Trek’*, *’Star Wars’*, *’Doctor Who’*, all manner of science fiction and fantasy, even, Baal help them, *’Wormhole X-treme!’* and the later novels of Thom E. Gemcity, who embraced the new reality of the SGC with open arms and hearts. 

That supreme pain in the *mikta*, O’Neill, their hero, practically *owned* the planet now. With Hayes’ second term coming to a close, there was talk of making the General a presidential candidate, if they could get him to agree. And why wouldn’t he? The fact he was said to be shacking up with a zed and an alien? A mere bagatelle in the new grand scheme of things, in some minds even constituting an added cause for envy and admiration. Certainly, Baal reflected, having the legendary Dr. Daniel Jackson on one arm, and the beautiful and impressive Vala Mal Doran, space pirate and ex-host on the other… Baal, who remembered with some fondness certain… intimate moments with Qetesh in her last host body… was definitely one of the envious ones. 

But all Nun and Eli David’s ploy of forcing Declassification had managed to do was hand the world to O’Neill on a platter, and enable him to run with his plans for First World Defense. 

If they had been able to eliminate certain key government and military members in the US and Russia, *starting* with O’Neill himself… the situation might have been retrievable. But even there, plans had been mangled past recovery. Instead of O’Neill lying dead on the steps of the Cheyenne Mountain facility with a bullet to the center of his forehead, their primary assassin had been caught, alive. 

And Ziva David had caved to interrogation so fast even Baal had barely had time to pack up and leave. 

Senator Evans had not been so lucky. He was in maximum security detention, awaiting trial for multiple counts of treason. So far he was standing mute, but, really, nothing the man knew could do any more damage than Ziva David already had. General Stahl had gone underground, the wily devil, but whatever financial assets he had were frozen, his influence, even with blackmail and extortion very real threats, was at low ebb. Most people looked at a senator in prison and realized there was far more risk if they were caught aiding Stahl. He had no friends left willing to be seen anywhere near him. 

And the IOA? An organization that had all but become a branch office of the Trust? Disbanded, almost all board members recalled in disgrace or under arrest for various charges, from collusion, corruption, to treason for selling classified secrets. Violating their Non-Disclosure Agreements and their various national secrecy acts were the least of the crimes most of them were on the hook for. As far as Baal was aware, the only members or staff of the IOA still at large were Aviv Charnas (probably used as bait to get to his master, Eli David), Zoya Sokolov (who managed to escape back to Russia and her Bratva superiors), and Emile Roget, who had already been in touch, seeking asylum with Baal. Baal was considering if there was too much risk of HomeWorld agents tracking Roget, as they most likely were Charnas. 

The Trust infrastructure, so carefully crafted over the past decade by he and Athena, was lying in ruins. Remnants, here and there, were now being scavenged and re-organized by General Landry, and Nun’s two former lackeys, Makepeace and Samuels. Whether any of those three still recognized or acknowledged Nun as their boss, much less Baal, was anyone’s guess. But Baal thought, on the whole… no. 

The secret lab in Utah, stuffed with Ancient toys from off-world and stolen from Area 51, was still in business. That facility had been kept secret from Nun and his Alliance cohorts, *and* from Baal’s Triad partners, a significant asset all on its own. They had a staff of three zeds, along with other scientists, most of them SGC rejects, to operate and backwards engineer the tech. Which would have been all to the good for Baal, but… How Landry had managed to luck onto finding it, Baal had no idea… except, maybe, Dr. Kavanagh, the lab CSO, may have actually called the General for advice when the rest of the Trust imploded.

And Baal himself? Oh, how that rankled… he had to have Nun rescue him from the planet surface, barely ahead of HomeWorld forces. The price for his ticket to Jorac and the Lucian Alliance stronghold? Every zed he’d managed to horde (outside Utah), stranded at a resort he had purchased in the middle of the Caribbean, guarded by assorted mercenaries and sweeper teams. When there seemed to be so many mysterious and unknown interlopers willing to come to the rescue of any zed, Baal had figured it was best to control access. Therefore the desert isle concept, straight out of that *’Survivor’* show Evans liked so much.

Once ‘beamed up’ to Nun’s tel’tak, the seventeen zeds had been easily subdued and convinced to cooperate, herded together in a locked room, for now. Their guards were left behind to make their own way off the island. Only their commander, mercenary Trent Kort, had been brought along to join Nun’s entourage. The bald human was something of a favorite with Nun, or so Baal had thought... 

Å 

Nun was furious. It had all been going so well for him, too, and the plan to force Declassification had seemed like the perfect ploy… he still had no real idea how it all could have gone so wrong. Certainly, trusting Ziva David with such a critical step as the assassination of General O’Neill, was a major mistake, her failure a major blow. 

Well, look at them now. 

It was as if they had handed the First World to O’Neill on a platter. 

The Trust was broken. They could expect little assistance from that quarter, either to acquire more zeds or to make inroads into the political landscape. No, the last cache of slaves Baal had hidden away from them were now in his tel’tak hold. Anyone Ziva David may have betrayed to O’Neill’s people had either been retrieved by him, arrested, or left to sink or swim on their own. Nun had thought long and hard about whether to offer Baal escape… the former System Lord was just that dangerous, just that much a threat to Nun’s own plans for domination… 

But since Nun had rescued her from the debacle on New York City’s Pier Six, Lord Athena had made alliance with Cira Lanis of Clan Kek. Baal’s goa’uld lieutenant had known of a number of old off-world hide-outs, not reclaimed by the dead clones, or discovered by the Tok’ra, Tau’ri or Free Jaffa. She had taken her place in the Lucian Alliance hierarchy with a fleet of three ha’taks and seven al’keshes, all with death gliders, and jaffa still loyal to either she or Baal. Lord Cira of Kek and Lord Commodus of clan Naunet, with the agreement of Clan Origin, had offered Athena clan status of her own, letting her take over the title Clan Amon. Athena might have been a touch reluctant to retrieve Baal from Earth in the wake of the Trust disintegration, for reasons identical to Nun’s, but too many of her jaffa still proudly wore Baal’s tattoo. She did, however, allow Nun to be the one to collect the former System Lord. No doubt as a way to rub her lord’s nose in his failures. 

Eli David, sticking close to Nun, was insisting a political take-over of the First World was still possible, and preferable to the tried-and-true Goa’uld method of bombing the insolent humans into submission before taking over. But Nun was not too happy with his pet strategist at the moment. After all, it was his daughter who had blown the Trust out of the water, and made it impossible for Nun to land anywhere on the planet. Eli was acting less and less reliable on a number of fronts… most of which revolved around family issues, as far as Nun could see. He kept his human servant, Irene, close, nanny to the human toddler, his granddaughter. The little human made Nun uncomfortable. Those watchful green eyes were occasionally too wise, too knowing… and they reminded him of another serious blow to his long-range plans.

The zed Tony DiNozzo had looked like the perfect host. Nun had wanted that strong, young, athletic body, that handsome face, those green eyes, those laughing dimples, the promise of untold pleasures available to one with dual genders… had wanted him badly. And the more he suspected of the secrets held by the zeds… not just their ATA genes, but… Some could control Ancient tech, while most could not. A very few of them seemed able to bend events to their advantage. How were they doing that? Why were those mysterious dark figures coming out of every shadow to rescue them? How were they escaping capture, hundreds of them, disappearing into hiding so even the Trust couldn’t locate them, escaping confinement, leaving the unconscious bodies of their jailors behind? He was certain DiNozzo held that secret. 

But any attempt to get a prim’tah near him failed dismally. And after the third dead larval symbiote was left bleeding blue gore on the floor, Nun knew he didn’t dare go near the human himself. Which still left him needing another host body. Just not DiNozzo. And perhaps any zed would be as dangerous. 

But Cira kept DiNozzo close. He was simply too valuable to yield up to Nun or the others. When the rest of their slave zeds had escaped… and, seriously, how *did* they do that?... DiNozzo became their last zed asset. He now wore a metal collar, a modified version of a *kormac* bracelet used to transport prisoners, except that this one only affected the prisoner, not prisoner and guard both. Lord Cira wore the control on her wrist, and if DiNozzo got too far from her, he would collapse, and eventually die if not retrieved. The Alliance had at least three more Ancient ships nearly ready to be flown, if they could just get the necessary zeds with sufficient control of their ATA genes to operate the tech. There were a number of crews out there now, three strong zeds per vessel, but maybe they would have to rearrange that. Two zeds each would eke out enough ATA control for the additional fleet. At some point, Cira would transfer her *kormac* control device to one of those ships, and DiNozzo would be a prisoner there, instead of in the clan Kek audience room over Jorac.

In fact, their growing Ancient fleet was the only thing that had been going right for them. Even that… well, dependent as they were upon getting more zeds… It was a problem. So far, none of their enemies had discovered the location of Jorac, but they couldn’t expect that to be the case forever. 

Eli had argued, long and hard, on making one more attempt to establish a beach-head on the First World. He was volunteering to lead the effort, of course. He was certain his many contacts, most unknown to his daughter Ziva and therefore safe enough to approach, would support him and not betray him to the baying hounds of the HomeWorld forces under O’Neill. 

Nun was inclined to agree with Eli on this. With reservations, of course. But not if Eli was allowed to run around on his own. Nun fully intended to be there at his side, to keep the spymaster honest. If Eli made any attempt to approach his daughter, for instance, to engineer her escape, Nun would have objections to such a plan.

But to return to Earth with Eli, Nun needed a new body. 

When Eli had learned that Baal had been retrieved, along with a human mercenary lieutenant now in his employ, Trent Kort, he had begun growling under his breath. Almost exactly his reaction whenever the subject of Tony DiNozzo came up. Intrigued, Nun had asked about that. The following information had been… illuminating. If Eli had one value to the Lucian Alliance or the Trust, it was his extensive network of contacts on Earth. Spies, highly placed politicians, those loyal to him for whatever reason, others terrified of him and the secrets he held over them. Recognizing this, Nun had tried to acquire the services of another with such a network. But Harry Maybourne had turned the tables on him, and Nun still had not decided what revenge he might, or dared, take. But then, there were others, it seemed, with such a network. And Trent Kort was one.

Å 

Tony was furious. He didn’t know what the hell this nifty new collar around his neck really did, but it was making it almost impossible for him to concentrate hard enough to reach the blue jungle. Even his dreams barely let him materialize in the glade before something jolted him out of it, the trees and worried faces of his friends vanishing like wisps of smoke. Luke stuck to him like glue, and that helped, but all of his gnarly psychic powers seemed blunted. Almost like being drugged, except that he wasn’t babbling idiotically and without his usual formidable mental filters. As he sat like a prize pet leopard at the feet of the Cercei Lannister wannabe, he had caught a few glimpses of Eli, the spymaster always in Nun’s shadow. Tony had heard from the local slaves and servants that Eli had a little kid with him. But so far, Tali hadn’t been brought anywhere near her father. So his brilliant plan to find his daughter had been scuttled, so far, and with this choke-chain around his neck, that was looking less and less likely. Cercei had taken great pleasure in describing just how the thing worked. She told him he would never be free of it. The best he could hope for was that it be attached to the console of the Ancient ship he was assigned to fly. Which, he had no doubt, would take him even farther from Tali, or that bastard Eli.

So yeah, furious was the word for what he felt. 

But at least he could take comfort in the fact that nobody else was enjoying themselves much, either. Cercei and Commodus were furious at losing all their zeds. Nun was furious because Tony had some natural resistance to goa’uld symbiotes, and his plans for taking over Earth were going nowhere fast. Eli wasn’t too happy about that, either, and with Ziva sitting in jail somewhere, spilling her guts, he was fast losing whatever position he had made for himself with these bunch of space mafia. Tony, who had once brought down the Macaluso crime family in an undercover gig, happened to know just how tenuous that made the man’s future prospects… if he had any future at all. The way Cercei and Commodus kept looking at him? Tony was betting Eli was days from an unhappy and fatal accident. And Tony would be the first to cheer over that, except… where would that leave Tali?

And then who should arrive with Nun but Eli, seventeen new zeds (although none of these had familiars trailing after), and a number of people dressed in Tau’ri fashions. One was a middle aged woman in classic Valli. Another was a somewhat younger woman, trying to look drab and invisible in fake horn-rim glasses, but sporting understated Givenchy… Oh yeah, and… the cherry on his mad-as-hell sundae? Trent Kort. In living color. 

The ex-CIA one-eyed traitor had the nerve to smirk at him!

But then, in the back of this procession, with a woman Spencer had described for him as a minion of Eli’s doing babysitting duty, was his precious Tali.

“Daddy!” the piercingly sharp young voice cut through the cavernous chamber, and in a quick-as-lightning move, the little girl tore out of her nanny’s hold, raced across the floor, and threw herself in her daddy’s lap. 

“Hey munchkin,” Tony gasped, barely able to speak around his clogged throat, praying he didn’t completely humiliate himself with crying, and totally unable to stop the tears from coursing down his cheeks. 

“Daddy, I mis-sed you!”

“I know baby… I know… I missed you too, so so much… but we’re together now. I love you, baby.”

Eli gave an outraged roar and made to charge across and reclaim his granddaughter. But Nun put out a hand to stop him, and with goa’uld strength was able to make it stick. 

Tony didn’t bother to look up to see how Cercei or Commodus were taking this touching family reunion, much less the Ori captains, Nun or the others with the goa’uld. He had no doubt they were all realizing that if they needed another hold on him, they now had it. But Tony didn’t really care at this point. His first priority had been met… he would get around to the next, ridding himself of the necklace, in good time. Then every one of these bastards would be sorry they ever saw his face. 

Eli was continuing to speak, to argue, but Nun made him shut up. 

Then followed introductions… The older but still fly woman in the Valli business suit was Lord Baal, apparently. Another damn goa’uld, wearing a business-woman formerly named Vivian Gant. The younger woman in the fake glasses *trying* to look like she wasn’t all that in her dark Givenchy skirt set, was some human attendant of Nun’s, not important enough to rate being named in company. 

But then, neither was Kort, who had been cooling his heels as a guard on a compound full of zeds since last seen. Yeah, that rated a return smirk from Tony, and won him a wincing grimace from Kort. Yeah, the mighty had fallen. Since Kort had been arrested trying to kidnap his Tali, he had managed to worm his way to a free pass off planet from the SGC with the promise of revealing Trust secrets. Tony wondered how the hell he was still working for them, much less had got himself smuggled back to Earth. Seriously, was the guy made of Teflon or something? Or didn’t Baal know Kort had betrayed him? Now there was an interesting idea…

There was something… weird, going on between Kort and the unnamed secretary-minion. With his blunted senses, Tony couldn’t quite get a handle on it, but Kort and the woman *knew* each other, and this was problematic for the woman. Ah, so, either undercover CIA, or possibly ex-CIA turncoat, as corrupt as Kort himself?

The new zed captives were ushered away – to a holding pen a little more secure than the last, with a force-field door. Tony had been occupying it on his lonesome, when not chained to Cercei’s throne. Nun, still keeping an iron fist on Eli, approached the circle of Lucian clan-lords, the ringer woman, the nanny and Kort behind him. 

The cool blonde, who wouldn’t be out of place in a Hitchcock thriller, though he could only hope not as the love interest, came forward and bowed to the female Baal, and was greeted as Lord Athena. Those two separated themselves, getting at least a little respect from Commodus in a minimal bow. 

Once the pleasantries were over, Cercei announced, “I am becoming heartily tired of our plans encountering… indifferent success. Lord Baal, your Trust empire on the First World lies in ruins, thanks to mismanagement, ill-advised initiatives and failed efforts to retrieve the zeds we find are vital to our needs. The First World is farther from our grasp now than it ever was. This cuts off our ability to acquire more zeds for our work. We have none of first rank beyond my pet here. We haven’t heard even a whisper from clan Hauhet for months. And Lord Nun, in spite of your apparent ability to come and go on the First World as you please, dangerous as that must be with such an infamous face, I don’t believe you, or your current host, have the necessary support there to pick up where the Trust has so dismally failed. And do not let your minion Eli David speak at this time. I am well aware that it is his daughter who is largely responsible for the fall of the Trust. Yes, Lord Baal? You object to my assessment?”

“Not at all, Lord Cira. I was obviously a fool to permit Eli David and his daughter so far into my confidence as to allow her to betray my entire organization. With her identifying this host and myself, it is no longer safe for me to return to Earth in this form, any more than it is for Lord Nun. And, in hindsight, forcing HomeWorld Security into the open was playing straight into O’Neill’s hands. The Tau’ri have a saying. If you want something done right, you must do it yourself. Both Nun and I have been guilty of trying to work through third parties, to far too great a degree. But… we still have assets in place on the First World. Accessing them at present may be problematic, but…”

Cira waited, one sculpted eyebrow raised, tapping on the armrest of her throne.

The female host of Baal gave a winning smile and gestured to Nun. Or, rather, to the two humans flanking Nun. “Here we have two spy-masters, with near unlimited access to every nation and government on that little blue world, and incalculable influence in the form of secrets and loyalties. Of course, neither human can be trusted at present… Eli’s loyalties are clearly divided, his daughter has already proved to be a traitor to her father and yet he still wishes to reclaim her. As for this man, Trent Kort… well, I have reason to believe he is the cause of at least four of my corporations being raided and confiscated by HomeWorld, after he was arrested *failing* to kidnap Tali DiNozzo.”

“Tali who?” Commodus frowned. 

Baal gestured to the little girl curled in Tony’s lap. “Eli’s granddaughter. Eli hired Kort to collect her. I intervened with a more lucrative offer. But he failed us both and was arrested, later released through the chaapa’ai. Why, I wonder? No doubt because he cut a deal. No, not trust-worthy. But, like ourselves, devoted only to his own self-interest. However, we do have the means to ensure loyalty, do we not?”

Cira frowned, exchanging glances with the other clan lords… Commodus and Athena giving nasty grins. 

Athena cooed, “I beg you, Lord Baal, chose the bald one. That missing eye is easily replaced in a sarcophagus.”

Eli and Kort both froze… then bolted for the exit. Excellent instincts there. Tali’s nanny followed close behind. It was all a jumble of confusion at the door, guards jumping in to capture the three humans. Tony desperately clutched Tali close, turning her head to his chest so she wouldn’t see… The nanny pulled a concealed knife from somewhere on her person and fought like a demon, but was soon cut down by the guards, dead and bleeding on the floor. The two men didn’t make it any further, although they suffered little more than the same bruising Tony had carried for a week. 

Tony closed his eyes. Neither of the black-ops trained men had knives with them? Really?

“Tali, sweetheart, go to sleep, baby…” The last thing Tony wanted at this moment was for his daughter to witness any of this. Oma nudged into his lap with Tali, Luke pressed close to his side, and Tony concentrated as hard as he could… it was a little easier for him to reach his daughter’s mind, in spite of interference from the collar. He easily reached for her innocent and untangled thoughts, her pure and simple emotions, the link of blood between them… and soothed her gently into a deep oblivious sleep… 

Like his own near possession, jaffa came from the sides of the audience room, wrestled the two men to the floor, on their stomachs, cutting clothing away… 

Lord Baal, in his female body, smirked at Athena and gave a mocking bow, then pulled off her designer power suit jacket and blouse. The lacy black bra was deemed inconsequential. She bent over Trent Kort. The back of her neck bulged, split, and seemed to explode outward in a spray of blood and flesh and bone. The woman’s body collapsed to the floor beside a restrained spy, even as a dark snake-like shape emerged. It gave a scream as it hit air, fins fanning outward, four-part pincer mouth clacking. Then it immediately seemed to sense what it needed nearby, and it flipped itself into the air, and descended upon Kort’s defenceless neck. It bit, carved a hole and squirmed its way inside in a moment. 

The jaffa jumped away, kneeling and bowing their heads as Kort slowly stiffened, scrabbled a little in the growing slick of blood under his hands. He struggled to his knees, then his feet. His one real eye flashed and he groaned, stretching his new body, then smiling. It wasn’t a smile Tony had ever seen on Kort’s face… but then, it wasn’t Kort any longer, was it?

Eli, prone and naked, could just manage to twist his head around toward Tony, black eyes wide with horror. Tony held Tali’s head firmly against his chest, and he stared him in the eye. Tony would never, ever, under any circumstances, have been buddies with either Trent or Eli, but… No matter what might have laid between them… this… this was… unspeakable. Tony would have put a bullet through either man first, and Eli would no doubt have agreed whole heartedly. The man gasped, fingers clawing at the marble floor, seeking out his granddaughter… but whatever he wanted to tell her, or Tony for that matter, went unspoken. There was no time. 

“Well, my friend?” Kort’s mangled and echoing voice boomed out. “Ready to join me? Together we will infiltrate Earth and gather our allies together. But this time, we will be in direct command of all. If you want something done right, you should do it yourself.”

“He is old, not that much younger than this body,” Nun protested, glancing for one last time at DiNozzo. How much more pleasing was that young shape… but then he sighed. He had issues with some of Eli’s decisions, but not with his knowledge and contacts. Then he glanced at the young woman who was one of his minions. The woman was staring at Eli’s prone naked form… an older man, yes, mature, but from the glimmer in her eye, she liked them on the mature side. There was nothing weak or soft about Eli David, even now. 

“Oh, very well.”

Former senator, ex vice president Robert Kinsey, threw off his expensive suit, jacket, tie, vest, shirt, undershirt. He knelt down beside Eli, then lay, twisted on his side to face away from the struggling desperate man. Kinsey’s white neck moved, churned, exploded out… and the man abruptly slumped, dead, as the snake within freed itself and went looking for a new host.

The dead bodies of the former hosts, the woman and the broken old man, were dragged off, so much garbage. Slaves sped in to wipe up the copious blood, even as others approached the two nude men with raiment more befitting their new roles as hosts to the goa’uld. Silk robes of many colors were draped on them. 

Eli David’s black eyes flashed as Nun looked down at himself, unimpressed. “I’ll miss the Armani. But… I need a shave and a haircut. And a new wardrobe.”

Trent Kort laughed. “So vain, Lord Nun?”

“You are the one who chose the younger body for the sake of Athena’s desires, Lord Baal.”

“Very true.”

“Enough,” Cira interrupted the banter. “Lord Baal, Lord Nun, you claim you can rebuild your organizations on the First World. What are your plans, then?”

Baal/Kort glanced at Nun/Eli. “Well, first thing we have to do is come up with some way to neutralize O’Neill. The man is a pain in all of our *miktas*. And you can bet he has a plan in place for both us and the Wraith, if and as they start heading this way. According to what my Triad ‘partners’ told me, his First World Defense Initiative includes a shield and weapons platforms that would keep any force at bay, almost indefinitely. Certainly long enough for him to gather every ship and ally he has at his disposal. I tell you now, if that shield goes up, and those weapons are deployed, our entire Lucian Alliance and every ship we have will not be enough to break through and take Earth. So we have to find a way to counter the shield, bring it down, make a hole in it… something… or stop the plan before it can be launched.”

“Agreed,” Cira admitted with a bow.

“Luckily,” and Baal’s Trent-Kort-shaped grin was near feral, “My host is an expert assassin, as I suspect Lord Nun’s is. Our friend here, ‘Miss Smith’, is also quite adept in these skills. All of that delicious expertise is now mine. Including his facility with a sniper rifle and fondness for explosives. 

“And then there is Atlantis.”

“Ah.”

“We have to come up with some plan to defeat or neutralize the city, or nothing else we ever do will matter.”

Tony, cradling his precious daughter close, could only sigh at that. Yeah, good luck with that, he thought. But he continued to listen and memorize all the details revealed. He wasn’t sure if or when he would be able to access the spirit plane again, but maybe he could get Tali to relay a message… 

Å 

Dr. Spencer Reid spent nearly every night in the blue jungle glade, hunting. He had more and more company as time went by. Not just the shamans, but the zeds with familiars and strong enough to access their full gifts as Furalin. He was first to admit he needed the help. After all, he had multiple targets to seek in this dream plane. And as the days and weeks passed, he was getting closer to his due date, and he needed his sleep.

He had managed a couple of times to make solid contact with Tony, but his Boss was crippled by the *kormac* collar he wore, so their communication was never long. He had better luck with little Tali, who was getting stronger as she practiced, coached by her father. Still. A three-and-a-half year old wasn’t the best at delivering intel, and Tony was careful what he had her relay. But as long as the little girl was allowed to stay near her daddy, she didn’t seem to mind the rest. 

Thanks to Harry Maybourne, the SGC was able to mount a military attack on Jorac, aided by the Free Jaffa and Tok’ra. But the Lucian Alliance quickly decamped with every available ship that would move at all, towing every platform they could into hyperspace, rather than meet that combined fleet head-on. And so Tony and Tali had disappeared again, along with around forty zeds still enslaved. Tony was able to tell them the Lucians had a secondary ship-works they had found, where they had now set up shop, but he had no way to tell them where that was.

It was a very big universe. And the numbers of stellar systems *without* stargates, like the new one, like most Ancient ship-works and construction sites, were… without number. Spencer was hoping there was enough of a connection between he and his Boss that he would be able to zero in on him, eventually, just as he could track Wraith activity in Pegasus. But so far, he had no luck. And there were other things he needed to track. 

Although he was still stationed at Cheyenne Mountain, their frequent connections to Atlantis enabled Spencer to keep the city appraised with what he had learned, and to find out how much had been verified and substantiated by the Pegasus teams. 

All of the Wraith hives were waking, all those that had been left in hibernation, and there were *many*, hidden from all and unknown. And they awoke *starving*. That had begun a feeding frenzy, not just falling on the last few Wraith-worshipper tribes, close at hand, but a few Hoffan plague survivors. So there were more dead hive husks drifting. But because all had been given the Asuran message, even the Keepers of hibernating hives, there were also substantial numbers of hives that at least attempted to approach Atlantis, the Asurans or even the other Changed for the retrovirus. Some had succeeded and retreated to hiding, to assimilate the Change. Others had fallen victims to their True Wraith sister hives.

But those attempting to raid fringe communities, thinking those far enough out, isolated enough, might be free of the plague antibodies, suddenly found themselves facing a small fleet of Ancient ships. Not just the little puddle jumpers, but three warships salvaged and reconditioned from the ship-works facilities Atlantis had been shown on the Asuran data disks. No hive alone could stand up to even one of those warships, and they always seemed to *know* where the Wraith would strike next. 

But awake or newly revived, all True Wraith hives were tending closer and closer to the Pegasus galactic rim, on that border closest to the Milky Way. The Swarm was far too large for even the combined Atlantis force to meet head-on, and growing larger. But at least there were no human communities out that far. And it was obvious to all what that meant. 

As the Swarm swelled, and True Wraith hives disappeared one by one from every other sector of the Pegasus Galaxy, Spencer could only watch and wait. Eventually they would set out across the vast void separating Pegasus from the Milky Way… and then… the Lucian Alliance would be the least of Earth’s problems.

Carson Beckett (rescued from the Lucians and now returned to Earth and the SGC), Anne Teldy, Miko Kusanagi, Dr. Hartley and even Daniel Jackson were all on his case to ease up and let them track the Wraith. Spencer was closest to Tony, and would be better served locating their Agent Afloat and his daughter. And Blair Sandburg, their senior shaman, took Spencer aside to tell him in no uncertain terms that Dimmy and JJ had to come first. 

So yes, he was glad of all the help. He just didn’t seem to be getting anywhere in his search for a physical location for his Boss, and it was frustrating the hell out of him.

Å 

Of course, back in the waking world, Carson had lots of support for making Spencer get the rest he needed. 

When their cloned Scottish doctor had walked through the Earth Stargate onto the SGC ramp, Galen at his heels, the cheers all over the facility had been deafening. Given the option of returning to Atlantis, Carson had chosen not to, for a number of reasons. First, having missed ushering TJ and Meredith Joy into the world, there was no way he was going to miss delivering Dimmy and JJ. Spencer was being advised not to take the risk of making the galactic jump in his condition. Then there was Teyla and TJ, remaining at the SGC as long as Tony and Tali were still in the Milky Way, waiting for the least clue where she needed to go to raise hell and get her family back. Ronon had been talked into returning, however reluctantly, and volunteered to look after Torren for her. However he may have missed his mother, siblings and papa Tony, the little boy had not suffered from a lack of foster parents: Selena and the Athosians and everyone on the Expedition roster considered him their own. As for Cameron Mitchell… there was no way he was leaving while Spencer was tied to Earth.

There was no one happier to see Colonel Mitchell return, even temporarily, than Louis Ferretti, still on crutches from his injury. The SGC veteran gladly handed the SGC XO paperwork to his fellow Colonel. With Chegwidden and O’Neill both stuck in DC with debriefings and fallout from Declassification, not to mention the First World Defense planning, Ferretti had been holding the fort on his own, and was only too glad to pass that buck along.

So Carson had quickly recruited Cam and Teyla both to ride herd on Spencer and make sure he didn’t do too much as he began to waddle, full to bursting and ready to pop. 

But Carson’s true secret weapon was Diana Reid. 

And, yes, to the stunned amazement of the medical staff, the ATA gene therapy not only worked on her, overnight it had turned her into the strongest gene carrier of them all. Carson was tracking the other physical transformations daily, but the brain scans and the hormonal tests they ran all said the same thing. In the space of a month, not only had the plaque interfering with her mental functions faded and disappeared, but the other damaged areas of her brain were repairing themselves, although more slowly. So, no more dementia or memory loss, and only the occasional transitory symptom of her schizophrenia remained, occurring far less frequently, even without pharmaceutical controls. Dr. Lam was estimating another month or so before the woman was completely ‘normal’. She had already gone through the ‘hormonal flu’ that signaled the beginning of her second gender emerging. 

Tied to the SGC for medical and security reasons, the elder Dr. Reid had assigned herself a job in the anth/arch department. She assisted with cataloguing artifacts and reading up on everything they had in their archives on missions and papers on the vast numbers of sentient tribes they had found ‘out there’. Reporting to Spencer in the evenings in the base quarters suite they shared, Diana chuckled over the fact that every word she read would have sounded like a schizophrenic delusion before Declassification.

One of the advantages of being on Earth was the ability to call Blair most nights. Often, Diana talked to the anthropologist as well, the two getting along like a house on fire.

“Hm,” Blair commented to Spencer. “You realize, Spence, when your mom is ready, she’s going to be a kick-ass shaman.”

“That… had not occurred to me…”

“Yeah, well, according to traditional and ancient wisdom, it’s the chosen ones who come back from madness who make the best and strongest shamans. I suspect it’s because they have already shed all of the mundane commonplace restrictions of an existence grounded in physical reality. Makes them more open to possibilities, rather than tied to practicalities.”

“Okay… but… not for a while yet, right? I mean… I’ve got time? Because I have to tell you, Blair, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, too much to cope with mom turning into a super-shaman.”

Blair chuckled. “Always when you least expect it, man.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Spencer muttered.

It also added a dimension of stress to his already fraught situation when his mom and Cameron bonded over a box full of baked goods Cam’s mother had sent them. As if Spencer needed *that* on top of everything else…

Å 

On top of, or maybe in spite of, everything else, Spencer was going squirrelly with boredom. His hormone-fuelled temper was making him increasingly cranky. Still nowhere near McKay levels of pregnancy-related behavioral aberration, but nothing like his normal rational, even-tempered self. In an effort to calm him down, Major Carol Hennessey, the AF-OSI officer assigned to Cheyenne Mountain, offered him a desk in her tiny office. She gave him tasks to do that were non-time-critical, so that if a sudden labor should interrupt him, the work wouldn’t suffer. The jury, so to speak, was still out on whether this was a good thing or not. 

The first task he had been assigned was tracking General O’Neill’s missing memos. This had apparently been a ‘thing’ since the very first days of the Stargate Project. Spencer suspected that mostly this was because the communications had been deliberately filed under ‘G’, or otherwise destroyed or mislaid. And, really, how had the man managed that without it tracking back to him? But since it was *still* happening with alarming frequency, in spite of all the counter-measures created by the IT department, Spencer was sure it had to be a joke, a prank. He just wasn’t sure who the target was. O’Neill himself seemed just as glad not to have to deal with the missing missives. Which meant it was all too likely that the General was scuttling them himself, a fact everyone pretty much took for granted. But that implied even looking for another solution made Spencer himself the ultimate target… a snipe hunt to keep him occupied and out of everyone’s hair. This possibility became even more plausible after Spencer had overheard a conversation in the mess hall, concerning ‘Operation Distract Daddy’. And if this was the case… These people had *no* idea who they were dealing with. His retribution would be swift and all-encompassing.

And really, maybe a good prank war was just what he needed at the moment, to settle his nerves and his fractious temper. Atlantis was declared an unprankable zone, for obvious reasons. The artificial intelligence of the ancient city was undeniably brilliant, no question. But the subtle distinction was lost on her, between a good prank to annoy, amuse or demonstrate skills, fair revenge with a proportionate response while avoiding physical and property damage, and mean tricks meant to humiliate and punish in inappropriate ways. Legend had it that Dr. Elizabeth Weir had to intervene when a contest between Dr. McKay and Dr. Kavanagh escalated totally out of hand, to save the city from losing one whole pier and sinking into the sea. 

But Cheyenne Mountain was another matter altogether. A feral smile began to cross Spencer’s face as he contemplated several ideas… until his phone rang. 

That was another chore Major Hennessey had given him, answering the office phone. 

He didn’t even have to consult the call display to know who this was. 

“Agent Gibbs. What a surprise,” Spencer sighed, then held the receiver well away from his ear as the obligatory five minute rant ensued. Only when Gibbs apparently ran out of breath did Spencer reply. 

“No, agent. As I have told you before, *repeatedly*, I am not at liberty to give out that information. The location and status of Agent DiNozzo and his daughter are restricted knowledge,” Spencer said, adding to himself, even if we knew. “And you do not have the demonstrated need to know.”

“What the hell! I have top security clearance! I demand you tell me what’s going on! Have you even located them yet? How are they? What’s going on over there?”

Spencer sighed again. “Your clearance levels have no bearing on this matter. The information is not restricted by HomeWorld, but by Ambassador Emmagen herself. She has explicitly commanded that you not be briefed on any matter pertaining to the DiNozzo family. And if you think I’d risk defying her wishes in this, you’re nuts.”

“She’s punishing me!”

“Yes, she is, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir! I work for a living.”

“Very well, agent Gibbs. I shouldn’t have to point out to you that the fact she has chosen a non-violent, non-physical, if uncharacteristically passive-aggressive means, is to your benefit. When Officer Ziva David challenged her back on Atlantis, David spent two weeks in sick-bay, recovering from severe deep bruising and muscle spasms. You were lucky to get off with only one week. I imagine it was because you didn’t try fighting back. Ziva wasn’t so smart.”

After Agent Gibbs had got to the point where he could stand and walk on his own, Teyla had him kicked off the Mountain. Then his Director, Leon Vance, had recalled him to DC. Hence the *extremely* frequent long distance calls, demanding updates on the DiNozzo abductions.

Agent Gibbs had been working operations control in the NCIS Navy Yard MTAC room for months, ever since he found himself without a team. Three Major Crime Response Teams had picked up the slack. None of them were so swift or so successful as Gibbs and DiNozzo in their heyday, but their closure and conviction rates were a lot closer to matching. The protocols and laws for evidence gathering, probable cause, warrants, witness interrogation and suspect rights were obeyed to the letter. Which was a great relief to Director Vance, who had felt his tenure in NCIS was hanging by a thread after the DiNozzo and David debacles, and the subsequent rapid deterioration of his prime MCRT team. 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Gibbs made a far better operations control officer than he did a team lead. For one thing, there was no way to deliver a head-slap over camera or comms. His terse, no-nonsense, just-the-facts, all-business commanding presence actually reassured field operatives. And no one could deny he had unsurpassed experience in undercover, counter-intelligence and counter-terrorism work. And even though it burned him mightily to be taken out of the field and denied an investigative team, there was one *huge* plus to his new position… Absolutely no paperwork was involved. People reported *to* him on their ops, of course, but then all he had to do was direct, all caught on camera and surveillance and automatically registered and recorded. And one more bonus… trapped in MTAC for the hours required for overseeing missions, his coffee consumption dropped drastically, which pleased his primary care physician, Dr. Mallard, no end. Of course, the lack of caffeine didn’t improve his irascible nature any. 

“I demand you brief me on DiNozzo’s situation! If not, I’ll go to my Director, SecNav, even SecDef if I have to!”

And there it was, right on schedule, the threat portion of his call. Gibbs was not actually that imaginative. Spencer gave yet *another* sigh. “Go ahead, agent Gibbs. But I have to warn you, don’t try hacking into our systems again. Your friend McGee doesn’t have the chops to get past our first-level password encryption. As for Dr. Sciuto, she’s already been kicked out once. If she tries it again, she’ll find that every computer she uses, ever, will automatically implode. This includes everything with a chip, including cell phones, ipods, entertainment systems, and possibly cars. I’m not sure about the cars. So be warned.”

“You can’t do this!”

“I’m not doing anything. But considering who I work for, you’d be foolish to ignore the consequences of trying to break down these doors. And I have to tell you, your hourly calls are bordering on harassment. The SGC takes a dim view of that.”

“Because you’re zed?”

“No, because I am a valued, and highly paid, civilian and consultant asset, with better things to do with my tax-payer time, and far more important work to do, than answering your incessant calls, just to keep telling you no. From now on, your calls will be automatically re-routed to the switchboard. And good luck getting past that byzantine mess of automated logic. Good bye.”

With that, Spencer hung up on the irate NCIS agent and hit a speed dial option. “Chief Master Sergeant Harriman? This is Dr. Reid. I’m giving up on agent Gibbs. Sorry, Walter, but you’ll have to deal with him in future.”

There was a chuckle from the other end. “That’s okay, Dr. Reid. I learned stone-walling from five different SGC Commanders, and practised on Presidents, senators, congressmen, brass of all stripes, accountants and politicians, both international and intergalactic. I think I can handle one pissed-off gunny.”

“Yeah, well, better you than me… wait a minute. Is there a book on this? Is there a bet on when I would throw in the towel on Gibbs?”

“What? Why, whatever do you mean? Betting pools are illegal, unless they’re on your babies. But, in case you were wondering, Colonel Mitchell is disqualified because he’s the one you rant to about Gibbs.”

“Hmm. Well… just remember how annoyed Teyla will be with all of us if he gets by any of us.”

Spencer could *hear* the shudder down the line. “Yes, sir. Roger that.”

“Oh, and don’t call him ‘sir’… or maybe do call him that. It seems to annoy him. But then, everything does.”

In her corner, Major Hennessey shook her head with a grin, muttering, “Pot, meet kettle…”

Å


	5. Rite of Passage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Åuthor Notes: Reference to Criminal Minds episode 2-15-‘Revelations’ (Spencer abducted, tortured and drugged), and 5-1-‘Nameless, Faceless’ (Spencer shot in the knee). Reference to Stargate SG1 episodes 8-19-‘Threads’ (CIA agent Kerry Johnson has an affair with Jack), 9-1-‘Avalon part I’ (AF pilot Lt. Col. Cameron Mitchell, survivor of the battle with Anubis over Antarctica, takes over as team-lead of SG-1), and 10-12-‘Bounty’ (Vala tags along to Cam’s high school reunion as his date and meets the Mitchell family).

Å 

As the days crept by, Spencer began to frown at the calendar. He complained to Carson at his now-daily check-ups, “According to my research, twins are *rarely* born at full term! They’re almost always early! It’s not that I don’t appreciate that they were able to get a few more weeks of development in, strengthening their lungs and immune systems, not to mention a healthier birth-weight, but… I was due yesterday, everything aches, no matter how much sleep I get, and it’s not that I mind helping Major Hennessey track down missing ordnance and the General’s mis-placed memos, but I need to be back in Pegasus, it’s been *weeks* since I last saw my toes, and I have to take mom’s word for it that she mismatched my socks properly when she helped me put them on, and…”

“Oops, spoke too soon,” Carson chuckled as a hot wet gush dribbled down Spencer’s legs. “That’s your water broke. Diana my love? You might want to call his friend JJ. She wanted to be here for this. No, Cameron, you may *not* come in! Give me a chance to get the lad cleaned up and settled first. Unless you want to return to your quarters, Spencer, and wait for the contractions to begin…”

“Carson, you do know that I am considered to be the SGC’s number four Trouble Magnet, out-ranked only by Daniel, Rodney and Tony? And considering the circumstances around Tony and Rodney’s labor… I’ll stay right here, if you don’t mind, until you think it’s time to transfer me to Evans Army Community Hospital.”

Å 

As it happened, the entire BAU team, including Garcia and the ‘new guy’, Luke Alvez, were just climbing aboard their FBI jet in Seattle when they got Diana’s call. They had successfully concluded a case, saving three children from torture and death. After a brief discussion with Section Chief Cruz, Unit Chief Hotchner ordered the pilot to change the flight plan, to take them to Colorado Springs. Even Luke, drafted from the Fugitive Task Force by Rossi because of his ‘superior hunter instincts’, wanted to come. He hadn’t had a chance to meet the famed Dr. Reid, whose place he had taken on the BAU, but this was obviously a team event, so he wanted to be there too. Phone calls were duly made to Emily, Alex, Kate and Elle, although none of those ladies were going to be able to get away. Promises were made to inform them, however, as soon as possible, and send what pictures they could sneak past Spencer’s guard. Meanwhile, Garcia had already arranged for rooms for them all at the nearby IHG Army Hotels. Not that they expected to be spending much time there, as they waited for the arrival of the brand new Reids. 

It had been the plan all along, once he had been grounded on Earth, to have Spencer give birth in an ob/gyn unit outside the Mountain. This would allow his team family to be there for him without any security hassles getting in and out of the SGC. Even though the BAU had clearance and were fully briefed on HomeWorld activities even before Declassification, it was still sometimes sticky getting civilians past the gates. Also, the SGC Infirmary wasn’t considered big enough to hold everyone, or set up for what might be a difficult birth. All the staff at the military-run Evans Army Community Hospital had been thoroughly vetted by Cameron, Major Hennessey, and Agent Hotchner’s pet analyst, to make sure everyone involved were not just zed-friendly, but zed-enthusiastic. No one was taking Spencer’s safety for granted, much less the babies.

Cameron and JJ were both allowed to scrub up as part of the delivery team because they were both Spencer’s Lamaze coaches. Diana was also scrubbed, gowned and at his side. Everyone else was in the waiting room, hovering around Garcia’s laptop. She had ‘hacked in’ (with full permission) to the hospital security surveillance system. 

When General O’Neill ‘beamed’ in with Sheppard, McKay and Meredith Joy a few hours later, Jack took one look at the crowd and laughed for five minutes. 

“Jesus! There’s more people in the stands than the last Avalanche game! Glad we talked Teyla out of coming. Shove over, you guys, let me see. So, how’s it going so far?”

McKay frowned mightily at all the bodies in his way, and took out his ever-present laptop. He tapped a few keys, and suddenly there was a large-as-life holographic image floating over the waiting room, caught from the feed Garcia was using. Everyone backed up to get a more comfortable and better view of the action, oohing and ahhing at the full color 3-D rendering. The former Black Queen scowled at McKay.

“No fair using alien tech. I would have done that if I had an Ancient laptop.”

McKay sneered, then gave a goofy lop-sided grin. “What can I tell you. There have to be some perks to being the smartest guy in two galaxies. And it’s only fair – there was just as big an audience for Meredith Joy’s arrival. Including rampaging sentinels and a full-on Genii invasion… The SGC has an inclusionary vision.”

It was Tara Lewis who eventually answered the General’s question. “It’s going a little faster than anyone expected, sir. He’s almost fully effaced now.”

Dave Rossi chuckled like the proud and fond honorary uncle he was. “That’s my boy, always ahead of the curve.”

“What?” McKay wailed. “Wait a minute, how is this fair? I had to give birth in the middle of a crisis, cut off from all certified medical practitioners and equipment, with no drugs, no monitors, nothing but a local midwife and a bunch of amateurs on hand to assist… and Reid gets all of this? *And* he’s already almost done after just a couple hours? *How is that fair?*”

Sheppard gave his mate a reassuring pat. “At least Reid is going for the natural childbirth, so no drugs or epidural. And maybe the kid has already burnt through all his bad luck for the year.”

“Okay,” McKay admitted grudgingly. “Point.”

Å 

“That’s it, laddie, one more push,” Carson encouraged. “Aaand… there she is! Well done, lad.”

There was a slap, and a startled wail from strong clear lungs, and then… what could only be described as laughter, high, bright, joyous. A tiny bundle was placed in Spencer’s arms, even as he gasped and tried to rest between contractions. Cameron leaned over to wipe sweat from his reddened face. 

And then there she was… his precious Diana Maeve, nestled in his mind like she belonged there… waiting. For her twin.

Å 

“That’s it, Spencer, almost done, almost done… push… one more big push and we’ll be there, lad! Now… yes… yes… there! There he is. Welcome, little JJ!”

Å 

Luke Alvez, AKA ‘the new guy’, frowned at all the action. “So… tell me this. We got twins, one is female-identified, the other male… I get that. But both are dual gendered, so how do you tell them apart without a DNA test?”

Garcia scowled at the newbie, but McKay smirked. “Alien tech, of course. Carson did a last ultrasound when they arrived at the hospital, scanned to see that XXZed Dimmy was positioned to come first. She’s the bigger of the two babies.” 

“Ah. Okay then.”

Å 

According to the ob/gyn team at the Evans Army Community Hospital, the birth of Diana Maeve ‘Dimmy’ Reid and Jason Jahar ‘JJ’ Reid was one of the quickest, smoothest and easiest births they had ever seen. The grey tabby cat no one seemed to notice in the delivery room was inclined to be a bit smug about that. 

And although labor had been a mind-boggling quick six hours from first contraction to delivery of both placentas, the party in the recovery room after, then the private room O’Neill had arranged, was there for a good eight hours. 

“Oh!” Spencer suddenly realized. “This means I can go back to coffee!” His grin was wide and relieved. Cameron laughed at him and tweaked at his nose. 

“Yeah, yeah, sunshine. And you can stop any time. Just keep telling yourself that.”

Most laughed at that remark, although a few, Hotch, JJ and Derek included, winced. But it gave Spencer serious pause. 

“Hm. You know what? I find I quite like tea, especially Teyla’s Athosian blend, and the peppermint is always soothing. I’ll just stick to that. Except… maybe, for special occasions?”

Diana finally shooed them all out so her exhausted, but proud and ecstatically happy son could rest. Only Cameron was successful in protesting, too stubborn to move from his guide’s side, or relinquish his hold on little JJ. Diana claimed the right to sit by Spencer’s bedside while he drifted to sleep, Dimmy clutched to her breast. 

Å 

Spencer was a little reluctant to take his newborn twins through the stargate to another galaxy, not until they were a little older, at least. He had decided on an arbitrary one month before he would take his family home… home to Atlantis. Diana would be coming along, with Cameron and the twins. 

So Cameron had taken advantage of their extended stay on Earth, and demanded they take the family and visit the Mitchell homestead in Kansas. Meet *his* family. Blushing in a totally charming way, Spencer had agreed. There would be a time-off window coming up, the twins would have a few weeks under their belts, when the rest of HWS was involved in the big reveal on Sam and Rodney’s plans for Earth’s defence. That was going to be some big hoopla in DC, and neither Cam nor Spencer needed or wanted to be caught up in that. 

Helping Spencer carry his go bag, plus all the baby paraphernalia, Cameron cleared his throat. “Just… try and avoid being cornered by mom and dad, will you? When I took Vala home to my high school reunion a few years back, they gave her the third degree. I just don’t want you to have to go through that.”

Spencer frowned. “Why not? I thought that was the whole point of meeting the family.”

“Of course it is,” Diana declared blithely, taking a few bags herself. Two infants required a *lot* of accessories. “I have every intention of cornering you myself at some point, Cameron, although I’m waiting until my head is a bit clearer, and my memory more reliable. Then you’re going to answer some *extremely* personal and embarrassing questions. It’s a mother’s right.”

Spencer grinned and patted his… well, his boyfriend, was perhaps the best description at the moment. “Don’t worry, Cam. It’ll be okay. And Vala says your mom makes the best pie in three galaxies, and she would know. I’m sure that’ll make any embarrassment worth it.”

Cameron winced and grumbled, “Yeah, until they start pulling out the childhood misdemeanor stories…”

“Oh good,” Diana said. “I have some gems of Spencer’s I’ve been looking forward to sharing. The ones I remember at the moment, anyway.”

Spencer chuckled, not the least put out by this. Cameron was willing to bet his beloved was a much better behaved kid than he had ever been in his wild and woolly youth. What would he have to be embarrassed about?

Å 

With a few days notice, there were a *lot* of Mitchells gathered at the Kansas homestead of Wendy and Frank Mitchell, and enough food to feed an army. Wendy’s first question, as ever these days, was “Where’s that precious Vala? What a firecracker! So sorry that didn’t work out, Cam… I have a pie you can take back for her…”

Spencer couldn’t help laughing at the consternation on Cam’s face… if his parents ever realised the ‘date’ story was a cover for his alien teammate, they ignored it. Spencer had heard all about Vala’s Kansas adventure, and the wonders of Wendy Mitchell’s pies, so he was glad to be ushered straight into the farm-house kitchen and sat down to his own piece of homemade deep-dish apple pie. 

Bast had disappeared fairly quickly, wary of so many people, so many large feet, so many noisy kids… Spencer had last seen her streaking out to the barn, no doubt to commune with the semi-feral cats out there. He also had no doubt she would reappear in due course, in time to return to the Mountain.

Cameron had already warned his parents that Diana Reid might be… a tad… intermittent in her behavior, and so the clan was prepared to overlook everything… except the obvious affection and devotion mother and son displayed freely and openly for each other. That charmed everyone. Diana was most definitely ‘on’ for the visit, and a great hit. Although she was quite out-shone by the twins, who were soon swarmed by doting adults. Spencer wondered later if he had even seen his kids, for more than feedings, the entire forty-eight hours he spent in Kansas. They’d been passed from one person to another, to be cooed over, entertained and praised to the skies as the most brilliant babies ever. 

Cameron had told him upon first meeting that he was a star in the eyes of the Mitchell family, and this proved to be true. Not only for the Sulfur Springs cases, either. With Declassification, Cameron had been able to come clean about what he had *really* been doing for the past few years. He had told them how he really came to be shot down, over Antarctica, in the battle with Anubis, protecting SG-1. That had won him the Congressional Medal of Honour. Since the Mitchells had all read the Gemcity novels, they were aware that “Dr. Reed Spencer, zed and space-cop” was actually Spencer. Yeah, his cred with the Mitchells was actually, literally, astronomical. 

At the big evening feast event, with the maximum number of family members gathered, Spencer had been introduced to the several zeds in the company. 

“Have all of you checked out the Blue Jungle web-site?” he asked.

“You mean that cat-fancier’s web-site, with all the how-to stuff on cat ownership?” an uncle wondered aloud.

“That’s the one. There are other tabs, though, if you go to the Home Page.”

Several looked at each other. One cousin ventured warily, “Is this more classified stuff?”

“Not classified, as such,” Spencer reassured, “You know there’s an increased risk the past few months for zeds being abducted and trafficked. You need to be aware. That was part of the Declassification information. As for the rest… More a case of it not making much sense if you’re not ready to hear it. But feeling is…” and he was a bit vague about who was generating the feelings, “that there may be tough times coming for all zeds. Even tougher than normal. The web-site has information all zeds should have in case certain events occur, and things get… complicated.”

Everyone digested this. Then another cousin scowled, “This isn’t about the damn cats, is it?”

When Spencer almost choked on his water, the cousin declared, “I knew it! Didn’t I say it? There’s definitely something hinky about all the damn cats! They’ve been haunting my Alma here since we got together. She claims it’s all my imagination, but it isn’t, is it?”

Spencer dabbed his mouth with a napkin, then said, “All I’ll say right now is… well, don’t be afraid to accept your cat when it shows up. And go to the Blue Jungle home page. There’s a tab for emergency preparedness you need to pay attention to, if nothing else. The rest… well, it’ll be there… when you’re ready.”

Å 

The gathering after dinner was raucous and welcoming and laid back… Spencer no longer wondered how Cam came by his slow southern charm. He laughed at all the stories of his maverick partner’s borderline-delinquent younger days. Almost all started out with a protest from Cam, “Oh no! Not that old chestnut… Isn’t there a statute of limitations on this stuff, Spence?” They were alternated with Diana’s fond reminiscences of Spencer as a boy. Training for the circus, and earning his mother’s fond nickname “Crash”. Learning magic tricks – which he was challenged to show off to an admiring and appreciative crowd – and breaking more than one casino with his poker skills. Until caught and barred, of course. By the end of the evening, no one in the Mitchell clan was calling him anything but ‘Crash’. 

But, in spite of Cam’s best efforts, Spencer found himself out on the back porch, alone with Frank Mitchell, under a big Kansas sky full of stars… a spectacular sight not often seen from more populated areas like DC, or the neon-flooded Las Vegas. The Milky Way sparkled above like a jeweler’s storehouse tossed onto a black velvet cloth. There was no silence, as he half expected from such a rural location, the air full of insect noise. Crickets and cicadas sang their hearts out, and frogs peeped and croaked for all they were worth. 

Spencer glanced at the Mitchell patriarch’s lap, evidence of a double amputation below the knees, when the man began rubbing at his thighs, wincing a little. Cam had told him Frank had flown jet fighters for the Air Force, and was unlucky to crash one… but lucky enough to come out alive, if not whole. 

“I want you to know,” Spencer began, when Frank seemed content enough to finally lean back and smoke his pipe in silence, “I do understand, at least partially. I was shot in the knee some years ago, on a case. The damage was extensive, and for a while there was talk of amputation. Or at least knee replacement, which is inadvisable in someone my age. I wouldn’t have minded so much, maybe, if it didn’t threaten my future ability to do field work. They didn’t have to do that, thankfully, but… the rehab and recovery time was… long and difficult. For good and sufficient reasons, I refused any narcotics, opiates or any pain medication that had a chance of being addictive. That slowed my progress, and made it… difficult. And exceedingly painful.”

Frank contemplated the silver-dusted fields spreading away from the farmhouse. Verdant crops tossed in the ceaseless prairie wind. “In my day, the docs were bit slap-happy, passing the morphine around. I *still* find I need to attend an NA meeting, on occasion… especially when the phantom pain gets to me. Luckily, the local VA is supportive, and there are a great bunch of veterans around here who understand.

“You can tell me to mind my own damn business, of course, but… the shot up knee isn’t what made you swear off the drugs, right?”

“No. And you have every right to ask. I had every intention of telling you if you asked. It was another case… I was captured by an unsub… a serial killer we were after… he had multiple personalities. One who killed, one who… tortured, and one, the victim as much as me, who tried to make it better. He did that by injecting me with LSD-laced dilaudid, a powerful narcotic. By the time I escaped… well… It took me a few months to get clean. I’ve stayed that way ever since. But… it isn’t easy. Sometimes… I need an NA meeting too.”

Spencer lifted soulful brown eyes to the senior Mitchell. “So… now you know. I… just thought you should be aware… I do understand.”

Frank ventured, “You do… Cam understands, too. After Declassification, he finally came clean to his mom and I about what he’s really been doing out there in Colorado all this time. He took a bad injury himself… crashed an experimental aircraft, they told us… what actually happened was he fought off evil aliens over Antarctica, helping SG-1 save the planet, got himself shot down on an ice flow… not sure if having my example made him more afraid of being crippled too, or showed him it wasn’t the end of the world… They said he wouldn’t walk again. I coulda told them that was like waving a red flag to my boy… telling him he can’t do something is a sure-fire way of making him prove you wrong. But the recovery, the rehab… yeah. He knows, Spencer. You should talk to him about it some time.”

Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully. “I will. Thanks.”

The two men smiled at each other. Mitchell clapped him on the shoulder and said warmly, “Welcome to the family, son.”

That… that warmed Spencer all the way through, and eased something inside that had always been tense… even with Gideon, and worse after he left. 

“Even if Cam and I still haven’t… um… worked things out between us?”

Frank chuckled, with an evil grin. “My boy has always found it just a little bit too easy in the romance department.”

“Oh yeah,” Spencer replied with some feeling. “Those bright blue eyes, that slow drawl, all that honey-sweet southern charm… I bet he did.”

“You know it. But having to work for it, for once? It’ll be good for him. Build character. As long as… you do intend to keep him, right?”

Spencer blushed a deep adorable red, dipping his eyes, then lifting them to grin wickedly at the Mitchell patriarch. “Oh yeah. I do… Er… So to speak.”

Frank laughed out loud. “Then give him hell, kiddo! Give him hell.”

Å 

Colonel Carter had remained on Earth, even after the first seemingly un-ending rounds of debriefings and media interviews finally ground to a halt. She was a charter member of SG-1, after all, in high demand by the public as their premier scientific expert and a hero in her own right. Being so damn photogenic, and with teaching experience to stand in front of crowds and lecture, certainly didn’t hurt her media presence. Moreover, she was spear-heading the work on the First World Defense Initiative. Rodney McKay was pretty much commuting between galaxies this past two months as well, as their preparations neared completion. How close, very few people knew. 

The FWDI was the design the two scientists had created between them for an integrated system of shield emitters and weapons platforms, mostly alien technologies, to be mounted on satellites that would be launched into fixed orbits around Earth. The First World Protection Pact, or FWPP, most of it written by the still-absent Dr. Daniel Jackson, was the treaty being signed by more and more countries, that would allow them to put such vital and dangerous components in place. It included the agreements as to who would be allowed control, or even influence, in what the system could do, and when. This was a touchy subject for everyone. No one wanted any one nation, or even the most benign leader, to hold the trigger on McKay’s honkin’ big space guns, or Carter’s Shield. But sign they would, because no one could deny that the Initiative was the best defense Earth could mount against intrusions or attacks from a wild and woolly galaxy. And beyond.

Å 

And, of course, even admitting how badly Earth might need it, there were some even less pleased than others about all that power in just a few hands. 

Nun and Baal had entered into an uneasy alliance since they had assumed their new hosts’ identities. Baal had a few off-the-books estates, courtesy of the late Vivian Gant, comfortable enough even for a goa’uld to wait out their stay in hostile territory. One was a rather lovely beach house in the Hamptons… well, beach house, say rather mansion, complete with indoor swimming pool, hot tub Jacuzzi, tennis courts and boathouse on the ocean-side pier… The security was state-of-the-art for Earth, starting with electrified fences, remote-controlled gates, cameras, motion and heat detectors, and round-the-clock guard and dog patrols. These features were augmented by alien tech. 

In this virtual fortress, they could summon and meet with those they intended to make their allies or minions on Earth. At the moment, they had just one ship to their name. It was a reconditioned Ancient cargo vessel, somewhere between an al’kesh and a tel’tak in size, or, say, a couple of 18-wheelers parked side-by-side. It wasn’t in the best of shape, but at least it was space-worthy. It had shields, cloak and transporters, as well as a macgyvered-in set of goa’uld energy weapons. Currently it was parked in geo-sync orbit above them, with Cheda Lanis at the helm. Cira’s brother had agreed to oversee the project on their behalf, with his experience of the blue world, and in-bred suspicion of the two goa’uld lords. One slightly-dented cargo ship was not much, maybe, but it was all Cira Lanis or Lord Athena would allow them on their latest Earth junket. The muttered comment last heard was someone saying snidely, it was all they could afford to lose to those bloody incompetents.

Sitting on the mansion patio with iced drinks in hand, both goa’uld stared out at the ocean. Neither was particularly happy about their situation. They were encountering one problem after another in their campaign to get a handle on this annoying planet. 

They had each taken a cycle in Nun’s sarcophagus after the Claiming, Baal getting back Kort’s missing eye, and Nun appreciating the revitalized, more youthful-looking body Eli had given him. Eli was undeniably a handsome man, especially so with some twenty years of apparent age knocked off, curly midnight-black hair and black intense eyes in a strong face. Shaved, hair cut and properly groomed, Nun smiled in satisfaction each time he caught sight of himself in a mirror. 

But that was before the Tau’ri and their allies found Jorac.

Athena had washed her hands of Baal and Nun both after the fiasco that lost them their primary ship-works, and all of its still-unclaimed Ancient tech. And she was the last of the Lucian Alliance lords willing to give them the time of day. They all blamed the two goa’uld lords for their recent losses, of zeds, influence on Earth and Jorac itself. 

With that aborted battle for Jorac, when the Tok’ra, Free Jaffa and Tau’ri fleets had shown up, bristling with weapons and itching for a fight, Nun had taken his entire fleet, such as it was, three Ancient ships of lesser size, one ha’tak and one al’kesh, and lost them all in battle. The ha’tak had been the focused attention of Master Bra’tac himself, and when it shattered into a million shards, it took Nun’s sarcophagus with it. The al’kesh was swarmed by death gliders till it burst. The three Ancient ships just seemed to shut down and turn off, effectively surrendering. No doubt that was due to the six zeds at the various controls. Nun himself barely made it to his own glider, with Miss Smith at the co-pilot seat, to rendezvous with Cira’s clan Kek ha’tak. He managed to slip in with the rest of her death glider squadron, just before she made the jump to hyperspace. At this he was undeservedly lucky, because she had intended to strand him behind.

As for the rest of the Lucian Alliance, they had used Nun’s defense as cover to run and had already bolted, leaving much behind.

Luckily for them, the Lucian Alliance had a fall-back base and a secondary Ancient facility they had found and claimed. It included not just a handful of ships and orbital platforms for construction, repair and weapons, but a factory for building and charging zero point modules, the *potensia* that powered the most powerful of Ancient toys. But they didn’t dare try and turn that equipment on, not until they were sure they had a zed of sufficient strength to control that ultimate in dangerous Ancient devices. They had learned that lesson already.

The one first rank zed they had, DiNozzo, while strong, seemed to have his ATA abilities muffled by the *kormac* collar they had on him. He *claimed* he couldn’t open the doors to the *potensia* platform while he wore it. And certainly, none of their other zed slaves could either. Which meant DiNozzo was no more use to them now than any of the other zeds. They considered, briefly, taking the *kormac* collar off him… but his apparent ability to turn symbiotes into mush when unfettered was… a concern. DiNozzo, and any of their zeds, were now *just* strong enough to pilot the ships the Lucians were able to get up and running. But experience had taught them to leave the big Ancient guns alone. Instead, they did much as they had with the Ori cruisers they had adapted. They created manual work-arounds and controls to bypass the ATA gene altogether for certain sensitive systems. Chain two or three zeds to the controls of an Ancient craft of any size or configuration, to operate navigation, engines, cloaks, shields and telemetry, and rip out the controls on weapons and targeting, to replace with goa’uld crystal tech. Then they at least had usable war-ships. 

When Athena had offered the clunker of an Ancient cargo ship to Baal and Nun for their latest mission to Earth, it came with just one zed to pilot – DiNozzo, with his tiny daughter at his side. Cira Lanis had decided, since he was no particular good to them, he might as well go with Nun and Baal back to Earth. 

Her decision should have seemed odd… out of character almost… but no one seemed to notice the brief vagueness in her steely eyes, or the frown of pained concentration on DiNozzo’s face, when she suddenly announced her decision. Didn’t notice, or didn’t care greatly, one way or another. This whole zed thing was something of a mixed blessing, as far as the Lucians were concerned. It had seemed like such a good idea, at the time… but taking zeds, and keeping them, or making their varied and unreliable abilities useful, seemed to be a different matter altogether. Only Cheda Lanis suspected there was more to the secret of zeds than they yet knew… He remembered Dr. Spencer Reid, trailed by cats everywhere he went, then watched the big orange cat and the little calico kitten that clung to the DiNozzos, and wondered… but kept his peace. Even to his ears, it sounded… crazy.

Then Cheda’s sister Cira had seemed to wake up, blink, and consider both DiNozzo and the two goa’uld lords with narrowed eyes. And she suggested Cheda accompany Nun and Baal. To keep them honest, no doubt. Cheda would captain the ship, maintain a position in orbit around Earth, keep an eye on DiNozzo and his daughter, and monitor the situation for the Lucian Alliance. For which read, Clan Kek. 

Nun and Baal both, having no idea of Cheda’s suspicions, but well aware he was Cira’s spy on their activities, had more urgent concerns. At least on Earth they were spared accusing and suspicious Lucian glares. 

The goa’uld lords awaited their guests at the beach house. Miss Smith, expression grim and a little sour as always, sat with them, her laptop open as she worked through whatever it was she actually did. Her skills were manifold and of considerable value, and her loyalty… well, her dedication to her own self-interest, at least, could be depended upon. Kinsey had known exactly who she really was when he acquired her services. At that time she had been a CIA agent sent to hunt down the Trust. When she had got too close… he offered her a better deal, and she had been turned. So Nun knew her background, even before he had taken Eli, whose CI/CT intelligence had identified her to him. And Trent Kort had actually worked a few missions with then-agent Kerry Johnson back in the day, so now Baal knew her too. Her sour-spinster alter-ego, careful camouflage to hide her attractions and create a form of invisibility around herself, amused both lords. 

A nondescript car arrived just after breakfast, with three men who had a definite military bearing, but wore civilian clothes. All three glanced around the estate, somewhat jaundiced at the overt display of opulence around them.

“If they’re sitting in anything that even approaches a throne, I’m shooting them,” the eldest of the three grumbled. Luckily, the patio furniture was less than regal, and no shooting was required. Yet. Enabling the senior man to relax a little, and put on his best political manner as he sat at the glass table, accepted a drink from a servant (oh yeah, of course these bastards had servants), while his two companions took up guard positions at either shoulder. 

Hank Landry, with a wide smile and a laid-back posture, began with, “You guys are so *screwed*. The First World Protection Pact got its last signature yesterday. And if you think O’Neill is going to wait around to get his platforms in place, you’re nuts. And once the shield goes up and the weapons platforms are turned on, there is no way anything is going to get through, in or out of orbit. I don’t care what fancy schmancy Ancient tech you’ve got your slimy hands on, it won’t get past Carter’s shield, or McKay’s targeting systems. The announcement is going to be made from the White House tomorrow. Big hoopla for the Press Gallery. All the top brass from HomeWorld will be there. And after that, you’ve got one, maybe two days to get the hell out of dodge, or risk being caught here, for good. As for our Lucian buddies trying a frontal attack to invade? Not a chance. If they couldn’t fight off the fleet at Jorac, they haven’t got a hope in hell taking them on here. Not with a shield keeping them out and weapons platforms cutting them to ribbons from below. And that’s without Atlantis even being in this galaxy.”

Baal stared at the ocean, seemingly unaffected as he sipped at his drink. “Athena is suggesting ambushing the fleet one by one, while they’re out on patrol. Once we get them down to manageable numbers, we lay siege.”

Hank laughed. “A siege? On Earth? You do realize, this planet has believed itself to be alone in the universe since the beginning of time? That there’s nothing out there we need in terms of resources that we don’t have right here? And what we do need, well, there’s a Stargate making a hole in whatever wall you build around the planet. How is a siege, or even an old-fashioned blockade supposed to work? And before you start making plans for full-on war, consider this. We’re getting more and more verifiable intelligence from Pegasus that the Wraith Swarms are collecting for a little trip across the void to the Milky Way. We’re pretty sure they know exactly where Earth, and all the populated planets are, and will be arriving within the next few months. Be pretty ironic, wouldn’t it, to take control before the Wraith get here and start chewing their way through every population we know of? Might be a good idea to leave alone the war-ships we do have with a way to fight those bastard vampires off?”

Nun glowered at that. His Eli-David-shaped face, with dark brow and black intense eyes, was good at glowering. “The HomeWorld staff will all be at the White House tomorrow?”

Baal glanced his way. “You thinking a blitz, maybe?” With the Trent Kort host, he had also acquired a distinct English accent.

Hank sat up a little straighter, somewhat alarmed. Behind him, standing at attention even without their uniforms, Makepeace and Samuels exchanged speaking glances. “Hold on, now. This is the White House we’re talking about. And if you think a few assassinations will stop the FWDI being implemented at this point, you’ve clearly been into the wacky tobacky. Not to mention, the half-dozen or so attempts your half-assed teams have already made all failed dismally, not only failing to achieve their targets, but getting themselves killed or captured in the process... What makes you think whatever second or third-string people you have left will succeed?”

Baal grinned at the general. “A wall is only as good as its weakest point. Don’t they teach that in military history classes? As for the weapons platforms… get the right people in place on those platforms, and they’ll fire anywhere we want. With even one under our control… But no matter what plan we come up with, it’ll only work if we can get O’Neill out of our way. And we should probably do what we can to neutralize Carter and McKay as well. They’ll both be on hand for their big reveal tomorrow, I presume?”

“Oh yeah. Bet on it.”

“Well then. Doesn’t it seem like a golden opportunity, and maybe our last one, too good to let it pass us by without at least considering options?”

“Yeah, well… you and what army?”

“Funny you should ask that…”

Å 

Later that afternoon, an SUV rolled up to the wide circular lane, and six people emerged. One was a slight older man with a shock of thick white hair, in an expensive suit and impeccably groomed. At his side stood a beautiful but icy cold blonde woman, looking every bit the lethal asset she was, although any weapons she might be carrying were well hidden. Not so hidden was the hearing-aid device hooked on her ear that she occasionally touched, with a look of concentration frowning on her cold face. The other four men were all muscle, told to remain with the vehicle with barely a gesture from the older man. 

He and his aide were admitted to the house by nondescript servants who might have been recognized by old acquaintances of Trent Kort or Eli David. The guests were ushered to the wide patio, given drinks and gestured to take comfortable chairs. The blonde took a long, assessing look at Miss Smith, who stared right back… both women recognized a potential threat in the other, but maintained truce… for now.

“Welcome, Mr. Greer,” Baal greeted with an expansive smile that gave his guest pause. 

In a carefully cultured British accent, the well-groomed man said, “Mr. Kort. Mr. David. It’s been a while. Thank you for the invitation to join you here… a most beautiful day for a visit to the beach. But I imagine you had other reasons to get me here? In a… less than polite manner?”

Baal held up a hand. “We know you’ve been busy, Mr. Greer, dismantling Decima for your… government work. And we also know your sources of information are… without parallel. I wonder if you are aware of the announcement about to be made at the White House?”

“As a matter of fact… I am well aware.”

“It doesn’t… distress you at all?”

“Protecting the planet? Gentlemen, that is what I do. What all of us do, surely. Why should it distress me?”

“Even if it isn’t us at the helm? With the Defense Initiative in place, HomeWorld will have near complete influence, if not actual control. And *when*, not *if* Atlantis is recalled to Earth… sooner rather than later, I have no doubt… that will bring us an alien artificial intelligence that is *millions* of years old, created by a staggeringly advanced race… I imagine it will have considerable influence too, well able to… handle any incursions or interference from any tech we can throw against it.” Baal let the idea of that settle in Greer’s mind, along with the consequences for his own little AI project… “I don’t know about you, Mr. Greer, or your… Samaritan, but I view this development with considerable alarm.”

Greer gave this some more thought, frowning deeply. “I suppose you have a counter proposal in mind?”

Å


	6. Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Åuthor Notes: *‘Person of Interest’* non-canon-compliant: Lionel is read in on the Machine in season 3-4-ish, not 5 per canon (although by season 3, I figure Lionel already suspected, at least, just didn’t ask questions he didn’t want an answer to). Reference to Stargate SG-1 episode 4-17-‘Absolute Power’ (influenced by the Harcesis child, Doctor Evil Danny sets up a network of orbital weapons around Earth – and fires them). Senator Alan Armstrong, Chloe Armstrong, Camile Wray and Carl Strom are all canon, from *‘Stargate Universe’*, used here without any permission whatsoever... and remember, in this AU, *‘Stargate Universe’* didn’t happen. In the pilot episode, SGU-1-1-‘Air I’, the *Hammond* arrived in time to destroy attacking Lucian clan Kauket and successfully evacuate all the Icarus Base personnel before the planet blew up.

Å 

“Oh dear…” said Harold Finch. 

It was a rare occasion when the entire Machine Team was gathered in the dungeon, their high-tech lair somewhere in the New York City underground. Today that included the newest member, Jarod (no last name, apparently, or too many, not unlike Finch himself). But at the soft pronouncement, everyone froze in their tracks. 

“Finch?” prompted John Reese, after too long a pause. 

“The Machine has just given me the numbers of… several prominent members of HomeWorld Security. Given the numerous assassination attempts that have been made since Declassification of the Stargate Project, I can only assume…”

Sameen Shaw grimaced. “Today is the press conference to unveil the First World Defense Initiative. Their leadership and brightest scientists will all be in DC to brief the world on the defences they’re planning to launch.”

Detective Lionel Fusco, new to this inner circle, although he had unknowingly been their agent for years, glanced around, trying to catch up. “I thought you said national and world security issues go to the Relevant File? Won’t Samaritan pass this to Greer and his people?”

Finch sighed. “Unless, of course, Greer is one of the people reluctant to let HomeWorld have so much power and influence. With HWS defense platforms in place, alien incursions should be virtually impossible. And we know the Trust and the Lucian Alliance already have significant toe-holds on this world. Neither group will be happy with these developments.”

“You think Greer and his Samaritan system are dirty?”

“Oh yeah,” Sameen nodded, without a doubt at all. 

Root chuckled. “Oh, this should be good. She wants us to intervene and save HomeWorld.” The woman cocked her head to one side, listening to that small still voice coming in on her ear implant. “She wants Jarod on the inside.”

Jarod nodded. “I think I can get an invite to the party.”

Å 

It was going to be another three-ring circus in the Nation’s Capitol, Colonel Samantha Carter decided. Complete with performing bicycle-riding bear (Rodney McKay, baby sling attached) and whole squadrons of flying monkeys. As soon as Sheppard landed the Jumper shuttle on the tarmac of Andrews Air Force Base in DC, she could already see the crowds of the rabid press, those who couldn’t get the E-ticket to the White House, crushed against the fences. The monkeys would be supplied by the combined forces and Secret Service, sending copious numbers of security who could only be depended upon to get in each other’s way. Luckily, she had Teal’c at her side, and Rodney didn’t go anywhere these days, especially not on Earth, without Colonel John Sheppard stitched to his side. Yes, the disturbing number of assassination attempts on HWS personnel in the two months post-Declassification did call for these extraordinary measures. But that didn’t mean they would do much good, or that she had to like it. 

One particularly starched-up Major in AF class A’s approached her group and gave a smart text-book salute.

“Ma’am. I’ve been detailed to see to your security for this event.”

Sam checked out his name-plate… “*Yeager*?” she stressed, one eyebrow raised. There wasn’t a jet jockey *alive* who wouldn’t recognize that name. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Major.”

He gave a charming deprecating smile and handed over legit-looking papers… 

“I think I do know him,” said a cheerful voice from behind him. “Colonel Carter? I’m Dr. Blair Sandburg. This is my partner, Detective Jim Ellison. We were in town this week for a lecture series I had to give at the FBI Academy in Quantico, on using anthropology tools for profiling and forensics… General O’Neill suggested we could catch a lift west with you. And, seriously, turn down a ride in an alien spaceship? Not a chance! Even if it means we have to consult at Cheyenne Mountain after. Anyway, we were told to meet you here?”

The presence of the adorable young man with the long curly hair and bright smile seemed to startle a lot of people, including, according to his not-quite-authentic paperwork, Major Jarod Yeager. 

“Oh, that’s right,” Sam now recalled. “You’re to accompany us back to Colorado Springs once the press conference is over. General O’Neill wants to discuss you both joining HomeWorld, at least in an advisory capacity.” 

Dr. Blair Sandburg was the world’s *only* expert on the sentinel phenomenon that had exploded out everywhere in the last year. It was finally being acknowledged by the world-at-large as more than urban myths and tall tales around the basic training and FLETC camp-fires. Not only were these exceptional people almost all in military, law enforcement or crisis-management positions, anything, really, with a ‘serve and protect’ mandate, but they were zed friendly. Maybe even *militantly* zed friendly, given their jobs in traditionally *un*friendly professions. As if the Protect the Tribe instinct was somehow dependent upon the protection of zeds. Which Sam could well believe, considering what she knew of the Furalin. 

The full truth about zeds was the one secret HWS had managed to keep guarded, even with Declassification. Of course, most of it was explained, in detail, in the Gemcity novels, but there had been no *official* confirmation. Jack just wasn’t sure what the fall-out would be on Earth, and with one mate and three budding children in his immediate family identified as Furalin, he wasn’t willing to take chances. But regardless, Jack wanted as many of those hyper-sensed sentinels drafted into HWS as he could possibly get, and that meant he needed an expert on retainer. 

“Blair!” Rodney declared. He hopped around and through rather too many people to give the shorter man a hug. “Meet Meredith Joy.”

“Hey there, cutey!” Blair cooed. “Great to finally meet in the flesh!”

Rodney McKay, sparing any attention at all for an anthropologist? Sam thought she might have a nervous conniption over that, but later. For now, she had a number of alpha males around her staring at each other in suspicion. Ellison, Sheppard and Yeager all seemed to be wary… until Teal’c bulldozed into the middle of their three-way stare-off and announced, “I am in charge of ColonelCarter’s security.” 

Yeah, out-alpha the former First Prime of the dead-false-god Apophis, why don’t you?

With that apparently settled, Sam announced, “Thank you for the assist, Major *Yeager*, but Teal’c is in charge of your detail from now on. Right? But you’re welcome to join us. Dr. Sandburg, you said you know the Major?”

Blair turned from baby-ogling to finally note the stand-off. “Jim? Colonel Sheppard and… Major Yeager? All three of you are sentinels, so everybody play nice, please. And Master Teal’c of Chulak… It’s an honor to meet you, sir! Daniel says great things about you.”

Once their attention was dragged away from each other, the other two sentinels could only stare open-mouthed at Blair, Rodney and the grinning baby. Baby Meredith Joy was drooling around two bright white teeth and gnawing on Blair’s pointing finger.

“Um…” Major Yeager managed to swallow and clutch at his wits. “That’s… a powerful aura you put out, Dr. Sandburg. Shaman?”

Blair grinned. “You know it.”

“I’ve read as many of your papers as I could find… mostly on the Blue Jungle website. I found them extremely helpful, when I wasn’t sure what was happening to me.”

“Glad you found them, then. Have you got a guide to assist you?”

“I have a couple. Yes. Thanks.” Not for anything would Jarod confess he got as much grounding help from Bear the dog as from the hidden zed Finch, and he was ninety nine percent sure it was the same for John Reese and Sameen Shaw.

Sam huffed. “Yes. All very nice. But we have a press conference to get to. Dr. Sandburg, Detective Ellison, you can wait in the shuttle if you like. We’ll be returning to Colorado Springs as soon as the conference is over.” She glanced down at the tortoiseshell cat at Sandburg’s heels… “Dr. Sandburg, as a Furalin, you’ll probably be tempted to start touching and operating the shuttle systems… I really would like you to try not to. We can give you a full demonstration and let you play later, for the trip back. All right? Apart from that, make yourselves comfortable. There’s a food locker with snacks and drinks, and, thanks to a little macgyvering by Rodney, a bathroom cabinet.”

Ellison eyed the other two sentinels. “I think I might like to come with you, Colonel…”

“Not today, but thanks for the offer. White House security will be tight. Only those on the pre-approved list will be allowed in.” Ellison looked to be working himself up to a display of stubborn, when Sandburg placed a gentle hand on his arm, and he reluctantly backed down. Sam nodded at the other unknown sentinel. “Major? I assume you have transport arranged?”

“Of course, Colonel Carter. This way.”

Å 

As soon as Colonel Sheppard was identified as a sentinel, John Reese guessed their mission would become… complicated. The Air Force Colonel would be able to hear them communicating over Jarod’s ear-wig, for one thing, and anything John said to Jarod out loud, even at this distance, Sheppard was bound to hear, once he was made aware. Jarod seemed to anticipate the problem, however. 

“Colonel Sheppard?” he said, sentinel-soft, “I must tell you, I have several… covert ops teams already positioned along our route. If an enemy plans to hit us, they have to get to us before we make it to the White House gates. I’ll be in constant contact with them. Just so you are aware…”

The man with the shadowy bald eagle fanning its wings from his shoulder nodded, his mouth set grimly. “Thank you, Major… whoever you really are.”

With a grin and all the earnestness he could muster, Jarod admitted, “Yes… in retrospect, maybe the name I chose is a touch too obvious. But I’m a friend, I promise you.” And he knew his fellow sentinel could read the absolute truth in that. His dark-eyed glance at the chameleon perched on Jarod’s shoulder confirmed that.

“Then let’s get this movable feast on the road, shall we?” 

Å 

Meanwhile, Root was on another exhilarating whirlwind progress she called ‘God Mode’, directed by the voice in her ear, this time through the streets of Washington DC.

In the National Mall she picked up a newspaper from a park bench that had an address and a key, obviously an intercept meant for a contact who wasn’t her. Then she was directed to a taxi stand, with a password for the driver that took her to another address. Then a second taxi moved her on to a building where a sniper’s nest had been set up on the roof. It took her no time at all to gather the weapon from a distracted sentry, now sleeping off a very special injection in the alleyway. She climbed the stairs to the perch, dealt with the sniper and his spotter, and acquired the weapons for Reese’s hoard. There was also a surprise, in a package of C4 plastic explosive, doubtless meant to eradicate any evidence from this location, that She wanted Root to hang on to. She left the two bad guys behind, trussed up ready for the oven, still breathing, for others to come along and gather up. 

Back on the street, she took a bus to a crowded pedestrian shopping street, where she bought a corsage to attach to her jacket, and so attracted the attention of a man in a muffler scarf who bumped into her and left a note in her pocket. The message held a direction to meet an Uber ride, and contained what appeared to be a numeric key-code. This sent her to a waiting car with an Uber sticker, where she gave the driver the address she had got from the National Mall. This dropped her outside a run-down factory building. She found a door with an electronic key-pad that her code would unlock.

Inside the empty factory with its echoing and cavernous work spaces, empty of any machinery, there was the faintest buzz of interference on her ear. Telltales of excessive electronics in the building, but nothing strong enough to over-ride her connection to the Machine. Taking a stairwell down into the heavily shielded basement of the building, she found a door with a conventional lock… one that the key from the first stop opened. 

Inside was a spindly and pimpled teenager with thick glasses and a *Star Wars* T-shirt, who glanced over his shoulder at her. He got up from his seat in front of a rather impressive consol full of monitors and wired up connected laptops.

“You’re early,” was all he said, and gestured her to take over. Then he left.

She could only guess he had mistaken her for his shift replacement.

There was a drawer full of USB flash drives, and Root made good use of about half a dozen, copying every scrap of information available on the system. Then she pulled the package of C4 out of her pocket, quickly put together a timer arrangement from another drawer full of convenient odds and ends. 

Before she set the timer, however, the Machine advised her to tune in to a couple of the monitors in front of her. 

“Harry? I’m sitting in a Samaritan branch office they’re using as a staging area. We were right. They’re running this whole operation to wipe out HomeWorld from this center. I’ve got the proof in my hot little hand. Lionel, your cop buddies at DC Metro are clear to clean up at these locations, sending the addresses to your phone now. Sameen, there’s another sniper post gearing up for our friends, and since they’ve lost contact with their other stations, they’re getting ready to strike. Here’s the address… Oh, and by the way… I’ve got eyes on an alleyway along the route with three black SUVs they intend to use to ram Jarod’s convoy as a last-ditch measure. Looks like six heavily-armed muscle-men in each. So if Reese is finished at the air base, you’ll want him to get in there and do his knee-capping thing. 

“Oh, and Harry... that hidden kill-switch we’ve been looking for all this time? The one you’re sure your pal Arthur Claypool put in his Samaritan code to stop it getting too big for its britches? I think I found it. 

“Anything else, gang? I’m about to blow this popsicle stand… literally.”

Å 

Root’s warning about the three SUVs came just short of too late. 

John Reese had been moving fast, had picked up an unlocked Ferrari to catch up and shadow the convoy on a parallel street. With Root’s intel, he swerved in a sudden left turn that left a chaos of honking horns in his wake. In the lead government limo, Jarod had given a quick update to Teal’c and their driver, an Air Force captain named Grogan. In the second car, John Sheppard was at the wheel, and with his curt “got it”, acknowledged the situation. 

But quick as he was, Reese was too late to get in front of the Samaritan agents. The first black SUV was already accelerating out of the alleyway, heading straight for the lead car. Reese did manage to T-bone the second SUV, the force of the crash shoving it against the wall and effectively wedging all four doors shut on both sides. But almost immediately, the third vehicle in the alley disgorged its armed and black-suited men, who immediately began firing on him. In a quick, smooth, well-practised move, he grabbed his favourite automatic rifle, bailed out of the now heavily perforated car he had borrowed, and got himself cover from which to fire back. 

SUV number one did manage to clip the back of Grogan’s lead car. It fish-tailed and ran up a sidewalk, thankfully clear of pedestrians, only to hang up on a post box. The driver, along with Teal’c and Jarod, took advantage of the bullet-proof panels and windows of their limo to defend against the oncoming assault force. Then an impatient jaffa growled, got out, and aimed a staff weapon at the SUV that had blocked them, and fired, just once, to blow it up. The fire-ball blew back its six passengers into unconscious and slightly singed heaps. That was very satisfying to him. 

Meanwhile, the occupants of the second limo had blown out their windows to fire on their targets, and Colonel John Sheppard took part in the fun and games with a Wraith weapon… aimed at the six men struggling to get out of the second SUV Reese had slammed into. The stun setting would keep those bastards down in drooling heaps for hours. Attack his family, would they? Hah. 

With Reese’s attackers from the third SUV all on the ground groaning from crippling gunshots to their knees, that accounted for this attempt to stop the convoy. 

Teal’c, Jarod and John Sheppard joined Reese on the sidewalk, to survey the damage, all smiling from a job well done. 

Reese glanced at the two now-empty convoy limos. “You pulled a switch? Where are the passengers?”

Sheppard huffed. “You think I’m letting my husband and kid drive into a shooting gallery like this one? Not a chance. They were beamed to the White House with Colonel Carter before we even got off the base.”

Reese smirked, sharing a grin with Jarod. “Well then. I guess we can leave you guys to do the clean-up? Or do you need help with that?”

“Nah,” Sheppard said, “You two get out of here before someone wants to take names and check IDs. Teal’c and me, we’ve got this.” 

Å 

It was a risk, certainly, but a calculated one. Surely, getting all of these high-profile potential targets together in one room, at least having it done in the White House meant there were already layers upon layers of security already in place. And the political necessities far over-rode the hazards. 

So, in the auditorium reserved for Press Conferences, President Henry Hayes took the podium before a suitably excited collection of the fifth estate. Behind him stood General Jack O’Neill (with 2 ‘L’s), Director of HomeWorld Security; Vice-Admiral (retired) AJ Chegwidden, Commanding Officer of Stargate Command; the Chief Scientists for HomeWorld Security, Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay, who was also Chief Scientist for the Atlantis Expedition, and Colonel Dr. Samantha Carter, Administrative Leader for the Atlantis Expedition, and also serving as Director of the First World Defense Initiative. 

With them, to be introduced to the public and make political hay, was the newly-appointed Chairman of the US Senate HomeWorld Liaison committee, Senator for California Alan Armstrong, along with his aide, his daughter Chloe. He had a team of staff members standing in the wings, some drafted (after considerable, almost draconian security checks) from the defunct IOA, since they were already well briefed on HomeWorld activities. This included diplomats Camile Wray and Carl Strom. 

“This is truly an historic occasion,” Hayes beamed out at the crowd. “Today, we unveil our plans for the comprehensive defense of our planet, with a Planetary Shield, a device that will protect us from virtually any threat that we may face from space. Powered by a fully charged Zero Point Module, and deployed from orbital satellites, it will be able to protect us from the most advanced weapons we know of, under full bombardment, for well over a month. That’s a full month for our fleet of ships, our allies, or even our own Orbital Weapons Platforms, to shoot any attacker out of the sky. Under this Shield we will be safe, even from the Wraith threat. 

“But I’m not the expert, and my grasp on the details are hazy at best. So at this time, I’d like to turn the conference over to one of the designers and builders of this great achievement, Dr. Rodney McKay. Dr. McKay? I yield to you the floor.”

McKay looked a little twitchy as he stepped up before a mass of flashing bulbs and bobbing microphones, his hands running over his chest as if looking for reassurance from something that wasn’t there… the baby sling with a sleeping Meredith Joy had been passed to her other parent. John had, belatedly, arrived by conventional transportation, a slightly dented and shot up limo. 

Behind Rodney a projector was showing slides of a collection of satellites in Earth orbit, with animation of a shield, like a gauzy shroud of super-sheer cotton, unfurling from one central satellite, connecting to a dozen or so anchor points, as if they were buttons, to wrap seamlessly around the planet. 

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. The Planetary Shield, adapted from the same technology that protects Atlantis, is the most vital component of our First World Defense Initiative. Our Orbital Weapons Platforms are designed to act hand-in-hand with the Shield. Each OWP will have its own power source and shield, and requires a crew of six people for active continual operation, three shifts of two. Once the Shield is in place, the OWPs will be completed and launched, crews will be delivered by our ships, along with the power sources, to initiate and bring them on line.”

The animation showed six space platforms, positioned as corners of a giant cube, each point in line of sight with three others around the curvature of the planet, encompassing Earth, high above the Shield. The shape reminded O’Neill, in particular, of a briefing long ago, when a floppy-haired academic dweeb stood in front of a grim-faced posse of brass to explain why six points of reference were needed to define a point in space, to plot a course to a destination… 

“The OWPs are manned platforms with cloaks, under shields that will themselves last twenty to forty-five days under constant bombardment, depending on the weapons used. In the event of catastrophic failure, the crew will be beamed to safety on Earth and self-destruct on the platform will be engaged to prevent the enemy from taking control. 

“The Planetary Shield is deployed from satellites, in an orbit inside the OWP network. It is powered by a Zero Point Module, which is the most powerful energy source we know. As such, we expect it to stand up to full and constant bombardment for a minimum of forty-five days from the most powerful weapons we know to exist. The satellites themselves have their own separate shields, powered by independent power cells, to ensure their protection.”

Rodney took a deep breath and finally, with an air of resignation said, “Any questions?”

“Will the Shield protect against, say, meteorites?”

Rodney put up one hand stretched flat, made a fist with his other, and bounced a fist off his palm. “Yes. The Shield will protect against ships, bombs, energy beams, meteors, comets, and asteroids big as the moon. Next question.”

“What about strange matter?”

McKay sent a pained look back at Hayes, who had started to chuckle. 

“Yes. No matter how strange. Next question.”

“What about transport beams, Dr. McKay?”

“That’s… actually not a stupid question. It will definitely block Wraith culling rays, since that was kind of the point of the whole thing. For an Asgard-style transport beam, like that used on our fleet of ships, and on the OWP for shift changes and evacuation, the deployed Shield must recognize and accept it as a friendly to allow it to pass. This is possible because every transport beam, created from Asgard crystals, has a unique and identifiable signature, and all the ones in our possession, and that of our allies, are logged in our systems. At this point I should tell you that the password algorithms protecting our systems, firewalls and equipment from tampering are so long and complex that the planet’s best mathematician, Dr. Charles Eppes, would have trouble breaking one, even after a year of determined effort and a hangar full of super computers. And we plan to change the passwords on a regular basis, certainly more often than once a year. Goa’uld style ring transporters used by our ships and *trusted* allies also have unique IDs we’ve logged, just as we have for any and every ship that might attempt to enter orbit and land. We do have protocols and applications in place to update the permissions lists, but we actually plan to have any ship not already listed remain in orbit, any personnel wanting to visit will transfer to one of our ships, and arrive that way, rather than directly from an unauthorized vessel. The Shield detection telemetry will also be able to pierce any cloaking technology we are presently aware of, both goa’uld and Ancient in origin, so there will be no sneaking in, and it will recognize our own ships. Next?”

“Does this mean we won’t get shooting stars anymore?”

Rodney took a deep breath. “The Shield is not up and running 24/7. I can’t begin to tell you how much power that would waste. No. There is an alert system in place that will send a code to initiate the Shield when a serious threat is perceived. Especially any unidentified cloaked ship, or even a very strange one.”

No one was going to say, and only a very few actually knew, but the only reason they had managed to get near universal agreement and signatures on their Protection Pact was because it specified that the OWP had code in place that effectively shut it down unless and until the Shield was fully deployed. Too many people were concerned that the OWP might, somehow, be turned against Earth. And that would be *bad*. Rodney and Sam knew only too well what damage they could do. Daniel had told them both the cautionary tale of a dream he once had, of being in command of just such a network, and how desperately badly that had gone… for everyone.

“But, for regular normal asteroid events, like the Pleiades or Leonids, such minor incursions will not register on the system as a hazard. Sort of like your back-yard motion detector being tuned to ignore birds or squirrels. Next?”

“Since you mentioned it, I think we’d all like to know… Will the Shield protect against the OWP, and for how long?”

“The weapons on our platforms are the most powerful we know of, and so the Shield will last perhaps a month with full OWP bombardment. But, seriously, how likely is that, anyway? You need my password even to get in, we’ve got an evac-and-destruct auto system in place if there’s even a chance of one of them being overrun, and if one of our operators should, I dunno, go postal or under alien influence or something, we can trigger the evac sequence from here. But I’m rather hoping no one on this planet is stupid enough to think it’s a good idea for us to turn our own weapons platforms against ourselves. Next?”

There was a chuckle from the crowd, and then another ‘will it protect against…’ question.

“Look, people. You’re beginning to sound like a bunch of nit-picking geeks arguing who would win in a fight, Superman or the Hulk. Even Superman wouldn’t be able to get through the Shield, unless we wanted him to. With the Shield protecting the surface of the planet, and the OWP shooting any attackers out of the sky, we hope we’ve got a comprehensive protection for this planet that will stop the Goa’uld, the Ori, the Wraith, or anybody else stupid enough to take us on. Now, any questions that do *not* include ‘will it protect against…’?”

At this point, President Hayes interrupted. 

“I think we’ve run out of those other questions, Dr. McKay, thank you. Now that we have the protection of Earth well in hand, let’s turn our attention to other matters. I’d like to introduce Senator Alan Armstrong of California, who will be heading the senate committee to liaison between our government and HomeWorld Security…”

Rodney was plainly glad to retreat from the podium, back beside Carter. 

He whispered to her, “No one mentioned the Mantle. I’m sure that information got out with Declassification, but no one seems to remember. You got lucky there, Sam.”

Carter nodded. “It isn’t ready yet. It may never be completely safe to use… the risk of exotic particle contamination, explosions, or intersecting with random alternate universes… we’ve got an emergency last-ditch Plan Zee fail-safe version we can deploy if we *really* need it… and we’ll keep working on it. But that’s back-burnered until and unless we have some reason to put it back on the board. Luckily, Rodney, your work on the Shield gave us a viable and much safer option.”

“And if the rogue Asgard in Pegasus start to become a problem…”

“We can re-visit then. But let sleeping dogs lie, okay?”

“Not a problem. I have enough on my plate, thanks. I just want to get Meredith Joy home and safe… we can beam back to the SGC, right? We don’t have to make ourselves a target again?”

“No,” Jack declared with an *extremely* satisfied grin as he listened in on an ear-wig of his own to incoming chatter on the raids being run all over the capitol. “I think that little ruse worked a treat. The Trust is about to scuttle itself, right out of business. So Carter. We ready to launch? Nobody asked that question, either, *when* we were going to launch our satellites.” 

“The Shield satellites are being deployed now, from the *Apollo*. We’ll initiate as soon as that’s done, probably by six this evening, DC time. We might need to do a couple of adjustments, make sure the recognition scans are operating correctly, so it doesn’t lock out our own cloaked ships, but after that, we’re in business. The OWPs are going in place tomorrow, without power sources. We’ve still got some work to do on those. But once those are complete, and the Shield is verified up and running, we’ll begin testing the integrated systems.”

Jack frowned thoughtfully. “The Shield can detect cloaked ships? Why can’t our regular scans do that? It would certainly be a help!”

Rodney shrugged. “The Atlantis shield system works in a different way. It’s as if it’s up when it isn’t… it doesn’t so much detect the cloak as it does register a solid body trying to get past, whether it’s visible to scan or not. And even our scans catch a cloaked ship when their shields are up too – there’s leakage from the additional power usage and a detectable signature. Even full shields on a cloaked ship won’t get past what we’ve built here. Although we’re not one hundred percent sure about the rogue Asgard… we still don’t know how they got past us. I think we’re just lucky they aren’t much interested in us at all.”

Å 

Spencer still spent his waking and sleeping moments – when Dimmy and JJ’s feeding schedule allowed, of course – searching the Spirit Plane for Tony and Tali. When Blair and Detective Jim Ellison arrived at the SGC, the senior shaman sat in meditation with him, and that seemed to help his focus and clarity.

Having Dimmy and JJ in his lap as he sat in lotus, with Bast leaning into his side, also seemed to lend him a power and control he had not had before. 

While the rest of the SGC hovered in front of TV screens to watch the continuing press coverage on the First World Defense Initiative, Spencer and Blair took the quiet time to meditate once more. 

Å 

Coyote Luke howled for them to join him, and Blair, Ruth, Spencer and Bast quickly approached. Tony was still having difficulty countering the muffling effects of the *kormac* collar. He was still unable to maintain any kind of stable presence in the Dream Time, even with little Tali’s help, kept close to his side. But Spencer thought maybe he could reach out to his boss instead… 

Guided by Blair’s steadying hand on his shoulder, Spencer sat by Luke, touched the ragged coyote’s coat, and closed his eyes… 

As he had once done with Tali, he wormed his way into Tony’s mind… not nearly as open, resisting the intrusion by instinct and reflex… but once Tony recognized the intruder, he relaxed, and let down his mental barriers, one by one by one... and there were a *lot* of barriers to lower. Mask after mask after undercover persona built and honed and strengthened after a life-time of dealing with threats to his life, health, confidence, self-esteem and sanity.

And opening his eyes as Tony had, Spencer looked out to a view screen… to the unmistakable view of planet Earth, rolling ever-so-slowly below. 

Tony was in orbit above them!

Å 

Cheda Lanis sat glowering in the captain’s chair of the dented cargo ship they had salvaged from the Ancient ship-works. He had one of his crew monitoring the activities in orbit around Earth. Several Tau’ri cruisers and puddle jumpers were placing satellites around the planet. From the scans, the tiny devices were part of a shield system, nexus points designed to link together to a central power unit. Cheda considered firing on the things, to prevent them from activating, but reconsidered. If their intelligence was at all accurate, Carter’s Shield would trap anyone, inside or outside, until or unless it was brought down in some way. If Cheda would only be patient and allow it to be turned on… then those troublesome goa’uld, Baal and Nun, would also be trapped. On the other side. On Earth. Prey for O’Neill.

It was worth considering, and he could only smile at the idea. Cira would certainly approve. It wasn’t as if they really needed Earth for anything at this point. That was a purely goa’uld obsession, to take what Ra had held for so long. Taking the First World might yield untold wealth and bragging rights… And yes, they needed those infernal zeds to pilot their Gate-builder salvaged ships and devices. He glanced resentfully at the zed he had chained to his own ship console. Zeds had proved to be almost more trouble than they were worth, and he had no doubt trying to *keep* the Tau’ri would prove to be the same. 

Yes. Let the Tau’ri have their Shield. 

Å 

“Tony. You have to land. Now.”

‘Can’t’, the agent thought back. ‘No control… locked out.’

“Is that Shelyapin at the command chair?”

‘Yeah… Cheda Lanis his real name… wants… hard to read with this damn collar… wants to leave Baal and Nun to squirm. Wants to stay in orbit.’

“Well, we can’t have that. They’re almost ready to deploy the Shield, and then we may lose you and Tali forever. You have to land.”

‘How?’

“Can you let me take over? I think I have the power we need. Blair?” 

Å 

Cheda found his hands fumbling uneasily on the arms of the command chair. It was a nervous twitch, the twiddling of thumbs due to the unutterable boredom of sitting up here in high orbit. He had nothing much to do but watch the finicky, exacting, careful actions of the Tau’ri in placing their satellites. And when they had just the one more to nudge into its geo-synchronous path, there was nothing much to watch at all.

He bent his head back against the chair rest, and blinked, feeling the torpor of exhaustion overtake him. His head dipped and then wrenched back as he caught himself on the cusp of sleep again and again. 

He missed the moment when his hand knocked at one control that engaged the engines. His crew, if they noticed, must have assumed their captain wanted this. He was certainly quick enough to punish anyone who questioned his commands. 

Å 

Jack O’Neill merely nodded, allowing Carter her moment, 

Colonel Carter gave the command. “Initiate Shield.”

Unlike the earlier demonstration animation, there was nothing to actually see, unless something came into contact with the Shield as it deployed. Then a white crackling net would appear briefly, and a sizzle as whatever object it was either disintegrated, or if sturdy enough, or behind shields of its own, bounced off. 

Nothing bounced on this occasion. 

“The Planetary Shield is fully operational, General O’Neill. Running five-by-five. Earth is protected.”

Å


	7. Compulsion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Åuthor Notes: Reference to Stargate SG-1 episode 4-15-‘Chain Reaction’ (Harry Maybourne helps Jack get Hammond reinstated as CO of the SGC, using code names ‘Starsky’ and ‘Hutch’).

Å 

Since the comprehensive and over-the-top efforts to cripple the First World Protection Pact had derailed so completely, it seemed that the whole Trust network, what remnants escaped notice, was closing down and going underground. All over the world, mysterious facilities were blowing up, and people about to come under investigation for treason and conspiracy were dropping dead of ‘suicide’, ‘accident’ or ‘natural causes’… if the authorities looking into those cases weren’t looking too hard. Not a few of these were prominent politicians, business people, or high-ranking military. One of the ‘missing’ was a fastidious-looking man with an English accent known as Mr. Greer, along with quite a few of his ‘associates’, all past employees of the defunct ‘Decima Corporation’. They had been engaged in some kind of top-secret Counter Intelligence/Counter Terrorism project for the US even HomeWorld hadn’t been read into. 

Evidence from the flash drives Root provided, anonymously of course, had uncovered the connection between the Trust and the Samaritan Project… while not actually murdered, several senators, congressmen and Pentagon generals who had signed off on Samaritan were, privately, disgraced and forced to resign. They weren’t charged with anything, certainly nothing that would ever see a court of law. If nothing else, they were guilty of gullibility for Greer’s line of scare tactics, and misuse of power that totally undermined the freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution... not to mention violating the security of other sovereign nations... 

Only a few captured emails and texts between Greer and suspected traitors hinted he *might* be in the pocket of the Trust. But his actions and the ‘side projects’ he had sanctioned told a different story. As for the spy system he helmed, Samaritan, next thing to an artificial intelligence... Samaritan had gone dark the night of the Shield Deployment, after dumping most of its data-banks to various law-enforcement and federal agencies. Every server, every remote location, every nexus of the once-formidable surveillance system, was not much more than dead circuits, blown fuses and burned-out heaps of slag now. As Jack O’Neill put it, what little was left was one big paper-weight. McKay used an open stargate connection to Atlantis to have their very own (and vastly superior) AI do a comprehensive – and almost instantaneous – search. No, the great Samaritan was dead, not even a ghost of it remained. Jack ordered its many and various locations stripped for scrap and recycling, mulched and/or melted down. Just to be on the safe side. 

And the next morning, certain telephones around DC began to ring, and a computer-generated voice reported a series of numbers. The people who answered those phones recognized immediately what those numbers represented. They were wise enough to tell no one what they had received, from where, or to make any attempt to trace the calls. It was enough that the Northern Lights Machine was back in business. 

But there was one number that came through on the ‘Irrelevant’ list that caused some concern... mostly because no one was sure *why* it had come up. It was the social security number of a Pentagon Lieutenant General named Landry, once commander of Stargate Command. But was he a potential victim of the assault on HWS, a victim of the Trust purge, or a perpetrator allied in some way with the Trust itself? The Machine, as usual, left that mystery to its Admin and the team to solve.

When John Reese and Jarod arrived at the comfortable suburban DC home of General Hank Landry, fully expecting to find yet another messy shaving accident, and therefore cautiously wearing latex gloves, they found the house pretty much gutted. No computer, no paper files, no personal items, no body… ashes in the living room fireplace had been doused with water and stirred so not a scrap of recoverable paper remained. Even the enhanced senses of the two sentinels could find no trace left behind, even of the owner and resident. The house was sanitized, no indication of foul play, or that the resident had left on other power than his own… But there was not a fingerprint left behind. It seemed even the light bulbs had been either wiped or unscrewed and taken away. 

Someone had been exceedingly careful.

But not careful enough. Incongruously, when everything else had been taken away or destroyed, there was their clue, sitting right out in the open. The TV entertainment unit had its cabinet doors flung open, and empty DVD cases littered the floor. Reese stared down at one in particular, the only TV series case among the collection of NFL football games, all featuring the New England Patriots. He bent to pick it up.

“It’s empty,” he told his partner. 

Jarod leaned over to check. “They all are. If there was some other information on a disc, hidden or disguised as something innocent like this, they took it with them when they cleaned up.”

“So, Jarod, did you ever see it? The TV show?”

Jarod smiled. “No way, too young. Not that they allowed us to watch frivolous things on TV at the Center.”

“Mm. Go ahead and rub it in, Major Yeager.”

Jarod blinked. Like John, he’d been through General O’Neill’s highly classified files backwards and forwards. “This one happens to be an old favorite – I use the term advisedly – of General O’Neill. It’s been a kind of running joke around his inner circles for years.”

“*’Starsky and Hutch’*? I thought our General only liked *‘The Simpsons’*.”

“Strange as it may seem, *‘The Simpsons’* hasn’t always been running.” Jarod nodded decisively and placed both cases back on the coffee table in an apparently hap-hazard display, and keyed his ear-wig. “Finch? I think we’ve got what we need. Give us five, then send in an anonymous call to the HWS, and give them the link to the evidence. They need to search General Landry’s DC residence.”

John sighed as they left the house for their most recently stolen car. “I’m sorry, I don’t get it.”

Å 

When Jack saw the crime scene photos, he could only sigh. “’Patriots’, hunh? Yeah, right. Their next target? Me?” Jack asked. “Or do they know what Harry Maybourne is up to out there?” 

Once upon a long time ago, Harry had been arrested on charges of treason, courtesy of Jack himself. As a high-ranking member of the NID, the black-ops Colonel had led rogue groups of his agents in, at best, *misguided* operations that endangered Earth’s relationships with its alien allies. Disavowed by his superiors, betrayed by those he had trusted, and left holding the entire dirty bag, Harry had soured on his former associates. He had managed to somehow squirm out of the charges and escape, diving deep underground. Thereafter, Harry had occasionally been of some help to Jack and friends. He would surface briefly to assist against his one-time allies, who had screwed him over almost as badly as they had tried to screw the Stargate Project. Jack had let him get away with it… against his better judgment. But Harry had become a kind of frenemy… and when they had joined forces, he and Harry had taken the code names Starsky and Hutch for contact and covert purposes.

“I think we have to assume it’s both of you, sir,” Spencer apologized. “Even though Mr. Maybourne is currently on another planet.”

Jack groaned. “Fabulous. On lock-down at the SGC yet a-fucking-gain. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to relax in my own fucking house? What about if I just high-tail it back to Atlantis?”

Sam Carter smiled wanly. “That’s actually a good idea, sir. It’s safer than anywhere on this planet, right now. Shield or not, since we seem to have locked a bunch of rats in with us.”

Jack grimaced. “Should we invite Harry, too?”

“Uh, that would be no, sir,” Carter recommended. “Maybourne is on his own. I figure we’re doing him enough of a favor giving him a heads-up.”

Jack scowled at the table top, tapping his pen against the glossy highly-polished wood. “So, me, Harry, AJ, Morrow, not to mention you and McKay. The ranking members of HomeWorld, SGC and Homeland, and our chief scientists. And Hank Landry is AWOL. Still no clues where he ran off to?”

“No sir. But… you, Admiral Chegwidden and Director Morrow are also all being touted as candidates for the next Presidential elections.”

AJ shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the conference table. “Um… so is Landry, actually Jack. Although, it’s the Republicans knocking on his door.”

“Well, doesn’t that just take all the shine off the honor of being asked? Crap. You’re right again, aren’t you, Dr. Reid? So… it’s beginning to look like our shadowy ‘Patriot’ friends, whether or not they’ve got the Trust to help them along, are gearing up to take over the American government. And maybe they’re willing to wait two years next November, and trust in the democratic process, and maybe not. Either way, we’re standing dead in their way. They’ve got a pretty narrow window of opportunity coming up, right? If they realize they can’t stop us setting up the Shield and the weapons platforms, and that ship has sailed… as far as they’re concerned, they’ve only got until we throw the switch to light it all up to make their bid.”

AJ nodded slowly. “That’s *if* they’re relying on the Lucian Alliance to come to their aid. But if they’re not? If they’ve already given up on that and decide they can go it alone, if they’ve got people in place already we don’t know about? We may need to go over the Red Sea Protocols again, in light of this, Jack. Make sure we’ve got all of our ducks in a row… Just in case. Whether you’re heading back to Atlantis or not, the last thing I want to do is leave Earth under-defended, without doing everything I can to secure everyone here.”

Jack smirked. “Yeah, I’d like you to do that, too. Thanks for the thought, AJ. Set up a meeting with the Red Sea team, sooner rather than later. We don’t have much time before we get the ‘go’ to light up the OWPs, and we have a lot to do before then.”

Spencer Reid frowned mightily at the photos he had spread on the conference room table. 

Cameron edged up to him and asked, “What’s up, Sunshine? You look troubled.” 

Which alerted everyone else to stare at the young profiler. 

“At this point, with the evidence in our hands, we can’t definitely declare that General Landry is a member of this Patriot group. He’s just as likely to be on the run from them. And we really don’t have any idea at this point how strong their links to the Trust may be… But…”

“Yes?” Jack growled. It bit, and bit hard, that Hank may have betrayed everything he and his friend used to believe in… 

“Well… He’s not a stupid man, is he? He certainly doesn’t profile that way. Although, like you, General O’Neill, he has a somewhat… quirky means of disguising his intelligence. His version being a sort of… cracker barrel folksy charm… so to leave these DVD cases, and only these, behind… it doesn’t track. It’s almost… well, I’d say he left these as a clue. One General O’Neill was absolutely certain to pick up. So my difficulty… is he friend or foe?”

O’Neill considered that, and what he knew about his long-time comrade-in-arms... “Or maybe keeping his options open? Until he has a better handle on who’s going to come out on top?”

Å 

The situation was looking somewhat grim for the Trust and Lucian Alliance remnants on Earth. With the Planetary Shield fully deployed, there was no way off, or on, the little blue world. Those on the ground were effectively trapped, unless or until they could come up with some way to circumvent Carter’s Shield, or gain access to the Stargate. The focus for their various hidden labs had been on Arthur’s Mantle all this time… then the sneaky so-and-sos at HomeWorld had ditched that idea altogether to go for the far more conventional, but equally daunting, Atlantean Shield generator. 

Lords Nun and Baal were among those who found themselves aground on the wrong side of the Shield deployment. They now called themselves the ‘Patriots’, as an easily referenced title to avoid suspicion if overheard. Yes, they seemed to be safe enough, for now, their hide-away in the Hamptons undiscovered by the authorities. And yes, their Ancient cargo runabout had landed on the grounds just before the Shield slammed in place overhead. But it couldn’t breach the Shield. It did, however, give the conspirators the means to transport covertly about the planet. With alien tech and conventional surveillance jammers in place, it was no longer such a risk to collect the ring-leaders together for discussions and briefings. Without the Samaritan AI, they were effectively blind. And keeping on top of most recent developments could mean the difference between freedom and arrest. Certainly this was so for those attending this particular summit.

With many of their less-cautious and less-paranoid people caught up in the witch-hunt for Trust and Trust sympathizers, and not a few who knew too much eliminated by their own, no one could guarantee their own security at the moment. But the Patriots weren’t quite dead yet... And there were new vulnerabilities to exploit. The wealth of secrets and contacts possessed by the former and ex-Mossad Director Eli David, and the former and ex-CIA operative Trent Kort, provided much valuable leverage. 

In the wake of shifting power alliances post-Declassification, several high-powered, politically-savvy people in government and military circles were attempting to forge new alliances. With the ascendancy of the HomeWorld organization, quite a few formerly influential people were feeling disgruntled and stuck behind the doors of power. They needed another avenue, or they knew they would be locked out for good. And so they were open to approach by those they should have avoided at all costs… 

Å 

Lieutenant General Hank Landry had arrived with his two colonels in tow. He had been careful, so far, to preserve a certain distance from the goa’uld ‘Lords’ of the Trust. But he had lately allowed himself to be talked into ‘returning to the fold’ by Baal and Nun with promises of support in some new venture they had on the table. Hank had been just curious enough to come hear what they had to say. But first, the two goa’uld ‘lords’ wanted to know how he had been making out with the Trust labs he and his colonels had taken over. If they were to find a way to counter Carter’s Shield, it would have to come from there. 

“He’s a fucking menace,” Colonel Samuels spat out. “That’s the second time Kavanagh almost blew up our lab, and half the state of Utah with him. Not to mention, he’s had zero luck figuring out a way to counter the Shield. At this point, we don’t even have a way to hack our way through the beam jammers they’ve got covering the White House, SGC and other sensitive locations. The fact that he’s the closest thing we have to an expert on Carter or McKay’s level just makes it all so much worse. I think we need to get rid of him. If we have to, we can try to recruit Dr. Rush again. He’s an asshole, but a brilliant one. After they evacuated Icarus Base, he went back to Edinburgh, and so far he hasn’t fallen back into the SGC vortex. As for Kavanagh…”

Baal gave a sly smirk, something his Trent-Kort face was good at. “We could always trade him to the Russians. They’ve been whining for help for months.”

Samuels shook his head regretfully. “Nice idea, but Markov would never have him. She knows better.” 

Baal gave him a significant look from under one arched eyebrow. “No, Colonel. The *Russians*.”

“Ah… and if he blows them up?”

Baal shrugged. “That’s their look-out. All that real estate they’ve got in Siberia, who would notice?”

Samuels thought seriously about that for a moment. It would certainly kill more than one bird, he reflected. 

He had been assigned oversight of the Trust labs when Landry took them over. For a while it looked like the three of them, he, Makepeace and Landry, would try to go it alone, cutting off their ties with the two goa’uld ‘lords’ in charge of the Trust. But here they were, back at the Trust table. Or Patriot Table… whatever. Samuels wasn’t quite sure what Landry was up to any more. With all the Trust losses and fuck-ups, it was hard to see what value there was in hanging around with the re-hosted Baal and Nun. Sure, they now had whole new spy networks to draw upon, and a space ship that couldn’t actually leave the planet. But what did they actually have to offer? 

Samuels sighed to himself. If the only assets Landry had were the labs, then yeah, they needed more support if they were to stay a step ahead of HWS, breathing down everyone’s neck. He had to admit, the scientists they had laid claim to were getting them nowhere fast. He had been forced to endure the dubious company of the annoying Kavanagh for months, and it was getting him down. He was still rankled by that burr in his butt. 

“That might work, if we can get Kavanagh to shut up, even for a minute. He keeps shooting his stupid mouth off about how he was a victim of the ‘zed conspiracy’ at the SGC, or he would still be their chief scientist. A few of his co-workers are just stupid enough to listen. They were all thrown out by O’Neill, Carter or McKay for being fucking incompetent, or just anti-zed and unwilling to obey either McKay or Thibideau. They keep adding their own ‘yeah, and they did this too…’ stories. When they get up a head of steam, they can go on like that for hours.” 

Nun settled back in his chair, tipping slightly as he gazed at his cohort. Baal grinned back. 

“How… convenient,” Baal commented smugly.

The humans at the table remained mystified, and somewhat unsettled. Nun’s posture was all too familiar to them, too close an echo of the host, Eli David. 

Greer was the first to bite. “What are you thinking, gentlemen?”

Nun smiled. “It has occurred to us that maybe O’Neill, Carter or McKay aren’t the best next targets.” 

Landry scowled. “Well, outing the SGC didn’t work. In fact, it backfired on you so badly your whole operation is now in ruins.”

Yes, Baal still smarted from that and blamed Nun for the failure. He just had to cut in, “And after the David woman failed her mission and got herself captured, we can’t get close enough to Jack O’Neill, Chegwidden or any of the SGC zeds, now that they’ve slammed the lid down tight.”

Nun gave just a glance to Baal. He was a little… odd about Ziva David, and Baal suspected it was the host’s persistent influence. Nun shrugged off the commentaries and continued, “There’s no use eliminating Carter or McKay at this point. The Shield is already up. The platforms will soon be in place, just waiting to be turned on. We still have no way to get past them, as Colonel Samuels has reported. Worse yet, with the intel they have on the Wraith, they’ll be bringing Atlantis back, sooner or later. Can you just imagine the impact, if the Atlantis AI takes over?” Nun would be all too familiar with the capabilities of the Ancient City, from his host’s memories. 

Baal nodded. And, again, couldn’t resist prodding at another of their ‘allies’ at the table. “We’re having enough trouble with that rogue surveillance Machine, that seems able to read our damn minds for our next move. Mr. Greer, you know that system best. Is there any way to counter it? Blind it to our activities? Destroy it altogether, even?”

Greer winced and shifted in his seat. “Finch’s Machine is a formidable weapon. I admit I severely underestimated both it and Finch. And nothing we tried ever put a dent in it, as far as we can tell. The best we managed to do was to discredit it with our Vigilance plot, so that we would look like the better, certainly more transparent and controllable, solution.”

Baal smiled. “Ah yes, the Vigilance plot. To discredit and supplant a rival. A very effective ploy, and we have taken note of that. So. We’ve got maybe a minimum of three months, maybe as much as a year, before Atlantis shows up in orbit. That’s our time line.”

“Agreed.” 

This was nothing new. They’d all been wracking their brains for a viable plan to stop the tide of events rushing O’Neill’s way. 

Landry, remaining silent so far, but more watchful than the others realized, asked the Trust leaders, “What are you thinking?”

Baal shook his head in mock sadness. “Hayes has handed over the Stargate, the Ancient Outpost, Area 51, HomeWorld Security, the Orbital Weapons Platforms, the Planetary Shield *and* a fleet of intergalactic war-ships, to people who obviously have world domination, maybe even galactic domination, on their minds.”

Landry hesitated. “No, that’s us, isn’t it? Except for the power he’s handed over… Ohhh.”

“Yes, oh. We think Kavanagh is right, about a dangerous and alarming treasonous zed conspiracy going on over at the SGC. Think Vigilance, gentlemen.”

They all took a moment to do just that. 

Makepeace was the first to venture, “Maybe we need to delete the word ‘zed’. Even the FBI have gone soft on the damn fuck’ems lately. Can’t call it a ‘gay’ conspiracy either, there’s too many closeted fags in Washington who’d bristle at that.” 

Lord Nun nodded. “All we need is one little piece of the puzzle, something that makes it look like our beloved President Hayes was duped, coerced or bought, and the whole thing will look like a giant conspiracy to take over the world. So it isn’t O’Neill or Chegwidden we need to eliminate, it’s a few carefully selected lesser targets.”

Greer gave a smarmy leer. “That’s easily done. Since Declassification, HWS and the White House have thrown considerable support behind zed rights initiatives and charities, funding support for medical, educational and employment programs. Then there’s that DoJ committee reviewing and releasing zeds from prisons all over the country – almost thirty percent in the past months, with more cases under review. That particular action has *not* been well received by middle-America. It looks to them like an effort to flood good honest neighborhoods with ex-cons, putting good honest citizens out of work. The DoD has followed suit, although more slowly, with the reinstatement of veteran benefits for ex-military zeds. It wouldn’t take much to make that look like taking financial support away from legitimate normal single gendered war heroes. Hayes is a circle himself, isn’t he? And he’s been on record as admitting he has zeds in his family. All we would have to do is make sure we target high-profile anti-zed persons or groups in our first wave, and *suggest* that some of Hayes’ own children were hidden zeds. Creating an imaginary boogeyman is the strategy I used, successfully, with my Vigilance group to scare the government into replacing Finch’s Machine with my Samaritan. You wouldn’t believe how *gullible* the masses can really be.”

Samuels connected the dots slowly, trying to see around the edges. “People who have crossed or threatened O’Neill, the SGC or effems in the past. If we can make the people think their great hero and planet savior O’Neill is a murderer with feet of clay, abusing his position of power, with all that alien tech at his disposal? The same people cheering him now will be terrified and howling for his blood. If we work it right, we can have the bunch of them thrown in cells, and the whole fucking country locked down under Martial Law before Atlantis gets back.”

Nun nodded. “We immediately reinstate the zed Registration laws, begin rounding up zeds, especially those on our priority lists, claim they’re part of the HWS conspiracy… When we have the US, Stargate, OWP, Shield and ships in our hands, no one on this planet will dare stand up to us. It can all be ours. And with his whole planet in our hands, Sheppard will fold and hand Atlantis to us on a plate. Check and Mate.”

The others looked at it, turning it in their minds, seeking out the flaws. There were risks, of course. Primarily the fact that such overt action would finally and irrevocably bring their group out of the shadows to centre stage. But if they won… They had never before been so close to seizing the ultimate power they craved, and in a few short months, they would never be so far from it. The risks were minimal. Certainly less than trying another assassination attempt on O’Neill, Chegwidden or the HWS scientists. As it was, there was only one serious impediment. 

Samuels voiced it. “We haven’t got a lot of time to set this up.”

Baal shook his head. “Don’t need it. Don’t want it. If we’re going to do this, we have to have all the toys in our hands before Atlantis shows up. And the last thing we want to do is give anyone time to think. We’ll spring it the week after the OWPs come online. But... we need someone to front for us. Well, General Landry? You’ve been very quiet. As you’ll be our figurehead in this, what do you have to say to the plan?”

Landry eyed the conspirators one by one. He leaned back in his chair and let a slow grin overtake his face. “You know, Jack can claim all he likes that the first rules of the SGC are protect the planet, protect the geeks, never leave a man behind… but that’s just propaganda to feed the rank and file, when they have to put their asses on the line every time they go through the gate. No, his real first rule was always, ‘Never trust a snake’. I’m sitting here wondering… with all these nifty plans, what the hell do you need me for?”

Lord Nun glowered at the general, his dark Eli-David eyes intensely focused. “I find your tone offensive, Landry.”

Baal sputtered out a laugh. “No no, my dear Nun, what the general says is all too true. And he has a point. But General, we need a prominent, highly-ranked member of the DC political inner circle to be our figure-head in this enterprise. It’s the only way we can garner enough support from all sides of the government to make this work. Yes, there are enough congressmen, senators, members of the JCS, the alphabet agencies and other entities who weren’t quite quick enough to jump on the HWS band-wagon, and now feel disenfranchised… but *none* of them will follow an unknown ex-CIA agent named Trent Kort, and *especially* not the ex-Director of a foreign CI/CT agency, in Eli David. Ms Gant or Mr. Kinsey would have been no better choices in this. But you? A war hero, a past Commander of the Stargate Command? Just as good as O’Neill, surely, in the public mind, but without his zed-bias. We need *you* to provide that leadership role, that reassuring sense of continuity. You’re the only one among us who can. The disaffected will *flock* to your banner with the least encouragement, and then the Oval Office is ours. And we will keep that support only so long as you remain in the Big Chair. So, good enough?”

This was the moment General Hank Landry had been dreading. The moment when he had to put up or shut up, piss or get off the pot. So far he’d been able to keep his options open, having in hand more than enough evidence to roll up the entire Trust for good and all. He could claim he had been undercover, and look like a hero, maybe even get his old job back. He was still enough of a soldier to want to do his duty by his country, and his world. But the plum being dangled in front of his eyes… why couldn’t he have his cake, and eat it too? He’d been riding along in the backwash till now, but he could do that no longer. And, not a coward, he made his decision. 

With a wide, warm smile, he said, “Hey, for the Big Chair? I’m all in, fellas.”

Samuels and Makepeace exchanged wary glances, neither of them wholly convinced by the big man’s open sincerity. They’d spent a lot of time in the general’s company over the past six months or so, and neither of them could claim to know what he was thinking, or how he truly viewed their associations or activities.

“And your daughter?” Makepeace challenged Landry neutrally, wondering how his superior was dealing with this little bit of personal trauma. “She’s still at the SGC as Chief Medical Officer, right?”

Hank Landry winced at a brief – very brief – flare of pain, his heavy eyebrows beetling across his forehead. “Just as well. Keep her out of the way. No sense letting her get in the middle of this. Once the whole house of cards goes down…”

Samuels nodded, understanding. With the fall of HWS a *fait accompli*, no doubt the woman’s natural pragmatism would kick in and detach her from the losing side. 

Lord Baal nodded. “There’s nothing like a hero betraying the public trust to turn fans into instant enemies. The world press will be absolutely rabid if we give them the right ammunition. Make people feel like fools for falling for the O’Neill glamour, and they’ll be baying for blood. The lynch mob mentality is our friend.”

Nun gave an evil smirk. “When we’re ready to go, I think we should get NCIS to investigate. We can claim the FBI is too compromised on the zed front to take lead. SecDef and SecNav will fully support us in that. NCIS has been dying to get involved on some level… I say we let them. Leon Vance can take point. He’s been so angry and resentful of Tom Morrow and O’Neill taking over CI/CT from the smaller agencies, and still hurting over DiNozzo undermining his whole director-ship, he’ll be blind to any hint of fabricated evidence. He’ll railroad the lot of them straight to the nearest prison cell.”

Baal nodded. “Yes, I like the idea of Vance leading the charge. High profile assassinations, the first ones should have some Navy or Marine connection to justify his involvement… in DC at least.”

Nun smiled. “What will make it particularly good is that Leon would love to crack down on pro-zed sentiment, especially after DiNozzo left them in the lurch. The good director is well known as part of the law enforcement backlash, which is why NCIS has been systematically edged out of so much lately. But he definitely thinks the FBI is ‘going soft’ on zeds.”

Landry said, “Fine, for DC and most of the country… but not Los Angeles.”

“Why not LA?” Baal asked curiously.

“Hetty Lange. She’s a crony of Chegwidden and O’Neill from way back. No need to poke that bear until we have to. We got any targets on the west coast, give ‘em to the FBI instead. It’s Quantico and the DC elite teams we have to watch out for with definite effem sympathies. The LA and smaller FBI field offices should be part of the anti-zed back-lash, and side with us.”

Å 

Cheda Lanis was not invited to the ‘Patriot’ party on the Long Island beach-front patio. Not that he particularly wanted to be any part of it… He had contacts of his own on Earth, some even Eli David had never known. He would bide his time, and depart at the opportune moment, taking his ship and pilot with him. 

Knowing his primary allegiance was to his sister and Clan Kek, he wasn’t any more trusted by the ‘Patriots’ than he trusted them. In fact, there were a couple of human guards sitting just behind his command chair right now, strong-arm brawn operatives of Greer’s. But the threat they posed was negligible, as far as Cheda was concerned. 

He had less than no confidence in those two Goa’uld. Whatever plot they were hatching, he was sure it was doomed from the start. Goa’uld arrogance and entitlement would scuttle them every time. As for their human dupes? Lanis would ignore them for now. 

After all, he had the runabout cargo ship, and a zed to fly her. The zed pilot was calling the craft *Nala*, and getting a giggle from that annoying child of his every time… a reference he had looked up, and discovered she was a cartoon animal character, a lioness. 

One thing, at least, the Tau’ri bodyguards were good for was supervising the outdoor ‘playtimes’ the child required. The pilot had insisted these were necessary, to burn off all that extra energy she seemed to possess. And he had proved correct in this. They tired her out enough for her frequent ‘naps’, and limited the irritability and temper tantrums she exhibited when kept too long indoors and inactive. Running around out on the beach or the lawns, playing ‘chase’ with her father in the ocean waves, had her laughing and significantly improved her mood for the day… a relief for Cheda and the rest of the crew. None of them were experienced or patient with children. It also made the pilot far more cooperative, when his child was settled and content.

So Cheda sat, and monitored activity in the skies above Earth, safe within his ship, with cloak on at maximum and alien scan jammers on full. It was only a matter of time before some enemy of Earth decided to put the Shield to the test… Still parked on Baal’s estate, or free to go where he willed within the atmosphere of Earth, he had only to wait until his Lucian kindred, or even the Wraith, arrived to punch holes in Carter’s Shield. Then he would escape and run where he willed.

But he had the distinct impression that he might need to decamp the first possible moment. There had been several… disturbing visits to the *Nala* by the goa’uld Lords… visits that itched at his skin and made him uncomfortable in ways he didn’t understand…

Å 

Just last evening, Lord Baal had sauntered in, the body of the ex-CIA operative Kort loose and casual as a goa’uld usually wasn’t. That was only the first hint of something… *wrong*. Baal had suggested Cheda could take a break, go and nap in his quarters, while Baal oversaw the *peltak* of the *Nala*. 

But as he said that, those dark eyes had fastened on the zed pilot. The human had stared back, expression gone blank, his body gone stiff. In his lap, his ever-present child had begun to squirm and mewl in distress. The pilot had attempted to soothe his child, whispering encouragement to her, holding her ever closer. 

Baal had chuckled. “Hiding behind a child, DiNozzo? Now that seems to be out of character for you. My host, Trent Kort, doesn’t remember you being so cowardly.”

In an instant, the pilot grinned and straightened, facing the goa’uld with every sign of being glad to see him. “Hey! I had heard that nothing of the host survives. Does this mean that Trent remembers me fondly? Is he still in there with you? Because, you know, Baal, ol’ buddy, I can’t think of another reason why you might be here right now, showing… an interest.”

For some reason, and Cheda wasn’t clear how or why, his own unease only grew. Now he recognized the heated focus in Baal’s eyes. He was in serious lust with the pilot. Not that this was so strange. There had always been rumors that a goa’uld was more influenced by their host in the pleasures of the flesh than any of the Lords would ever care to admit. As far as Cheda was aware, symbiote Baal had never even seen the pilot before. So this must be some obsession of the host that brought him here this night. 

A low guttural growl came from nearer the floor… the orange cat was bristling as it stared at the goa’uld. 

Pressing in at his skull, Cheda felt the need to get that goa’uld out of his *peltak*. 

“Lord Baal. I think we both know that I will not yield command of the *Nala* to anyone. And since the ship is useless without a pilot, and this one is chained to the *peltak* by the collar he wears, which is in turn controlled by the remote device only I have access to… I suggest you find your… entertainment elsewhere. I had thought Lord Athena found your new skin intriguing enough. It was she who chose it for you, after all.”

Baal spared but a single sour look at the Lucian. But he kept up his casual posture. “You are what the Tau’ri call a buzz-kill, Lanis. I only meant to rattle his cage a little. The dominance games my host played with this zed seemed entertaining to me… as entertaining as sex with a zed might be. Don’t tell me you aren’t equally… *intrigued* by the idea of dual genders.”

That brought Cheda up short. He had, upon occasion, looked upon this particular Tau’ri and reflected upon how attractive he was, how it might be interesting, as an experiment, to partake of a dual gender… but then the impulse curdled in his head, and he almost felt sick at the very thought. So it proved now. 

“There are other zeds about, Lord Baal. Go find one of your own. I… *we* need this one, if we are to keep our one and only ship operational. Or don’t you agree?” 

With a mocking leer and chuckle that fooled no one, Baal merely turned and sauntered right out again. 

In the navigation chair, the pilot slumped and groaned, and then seemed to pass out from exhaustion. Cheda had his cousin and second in command take the *kormac* control bracelet and a couple of crew to remove the pilot and his child to their sleeping quarters. Just off the *peltak*, there were locks and alarms on these quarters that even a goa’uld could not bypass. *Especially* not a goa’uld.

Once the Tau’ri were removed, Cheda found his own energy level flagging, as if he had been under some kind of severe stress. Or maybe it was just the raging headache he was fighting off.

Å 

The next morning, he was visited by Lord Nun, another goa’uld who seemed unnaturally interested in his pilot, although not inclined to ogle his body. No, this one looked daggers, glanced at the child always sitting close by with… yearning? A reaction quickly closed off. 

“Do you maintain a link to the transponder signal you were given?”

“Of course,” Cheda replied, and brought up the display above his command chair. It showed a three dimensional map of the state of Colorado, and a little blinking light well within the confines of Cheyenne Mountain. It was the signal code Lord Nun had given him after they arrived in Earth orbit. 

“Hmph,” Lord Nun muttered to himself, “they have not yet moved her.”

“Moved who?” Cheda asked, wondering who was of such interest to a goa’uld lord-in-exile.

The pilot chuckled derisively as he glanced at the goa’uld in Eli David’s body. “It’s Ziva, isn’t it? Is Eli still plotting to get his family back? Not much of a chance there as long as she’s still at the SGC. They’ve got beam jammers, right?” 

Lord Nun shot the pilot a murderous look, before swirling away in a fume of disgruntled frustration.

Å 

“You know, baby,” Tony whispered to his sleeping daughter later, when the bridge was deserted in the night-watch, but for the two of them. “The goa’uld symbiotes can claim that nothing of the host remains all they want… but I *know* that Kort and Eli are both alive and well… and nudging at their jailors. For now they’re both content enough to sit still and lend their considerable expertise to the cause… in exchange for a chance at real power… and that one thing they both want above all else. Kort wants to finally get one over on me… and Eli wants his daughter… and you. They think all they have to do is wait, and they can get themselves out of this mess… Take back their bodies… but the symbiotes are just playing with them. This is not going to end well for them, host or symbiote. It’ll be civil war in there before long…

“I just hope we aren’t around to watch it happen.”

Å


	8. All That Remains

Å 

When Spencer stepped back on the Atlantis deck, it was with a monumental feeling of relief. The joyful mental greetings from the city AI were just part of that. But it was a feeling of coming home, with his family around him, that made the moment *almost* perfect. 

Diana gawked in open-mouthed awe at the soaring architecture, and this was just the Stargate and Operations decks. Spencer had warned her that the AI would greet her, so she wouldn’t be shocked or concerned. Cameron chuckled as he took Dimmy from her arms, to let her distraction take her to the nearest balcony to look out over the towers of the alien city and the wide blue Lantean ocean. 

At their back, Carson also was overjoyed to return to the city. He had barely cleared the stargate splash-zone when Laura Cadman charged from the side to wrap him in an ecstatic hug, no less enthusiastic than Colonel Sheppard’s reunion with Dr. McKay and Meredith Joy. 

The only qualifier of Spencer’s homecoming happiness was that they were not bringing Tony and Tali back with them. They knew he was on Earth, but where, they had yet to discover. Spencer had been forced to leave that in the capable hands of others – Hotch and Emily, between them, could cover the US and the international scene. The small ancient ship *Nala* could literally be anywhere within the Shield. So far, none of the information given them by Ziva David had led them any closer to a clue as to the whereabouts of the DiNozzos, and all of the properties she had known about, or they had managed to trace, were abandoned. Penelope Garcia (the human one) was continuing to trawl through all the financial and ownership records she could find for Vivian Gant, her GlobalTech company, Robert Kinsey, Eli David and Trent Kort, in an effort to track down where the last hold-out Trust leadership might have gone to ground. Even with the detailed descriptions of the mansion on the sea that Spencer was able to relay, narrowing down the search would be a monumental task.

Teyla had also been forced, reluctantly, to return to the city, bringing TJ with her, with the promise that any hint of her mate and daughter and she would be welcomed back to lead the recovery efforts. She had said goodbye to Gibbs at the SGC, promising him he would get chances to see his son again once Tony was found. Her enhanced senses had been giving her problems, stuck on high alert as they were. The hyper-vigilance over an extended period of time without her family members was beginning to tell on her. When even Blair Sandburg was unable to help her, he recommended she ground her erratic and spiking senses on her son TJ instead. This had worked to moderate her somewhat, at least. So did young Torren, running into her arms with glad cries. But nothing would be right for her until she had Tony and Tali back.

Spencer felt that, too. Spencer knew that his Boss was getting stronger, and better at countering the effects of the *kormac* collar. He was taking better advantage of that nifty trick of linking his Furalin powers with Tali’s, his control with her sheer energy. But even so, protecting his daughter meant he was unwilling to take any chances with her safety. Any plans he might craft for escape had to be ultra-safe. Not exactly the kind of behavior he was used to, as a Wild Card, and it was putting a definite crimp in his style. And until he found a way to take off the collar, or convince his jailors to do it for him, he was pretty much trapped.

With all of the brouhaha going on back on Earth, Jack had elected to stay. Sam and Teal’c had remained with him. Sam had decided to reclaim her place as captain of the BC-304 *Hammond*, and stick around to monitor both the Shield and Orbital Weapons Platforms. Jack had convinced her she was of more use aiding in defense of the home planet than out in Pegasus. Having both Carter and McKay that far from home, their two biggest brains, just didn’t seem like sense to Jack, and Sam reluctantly agreed. 

Soon enough, they all knew, the Wraith would be on their way to the Milky Way, and then the big show in town was going to be System Sol. Jack was sending all their teams and most of their fleet out to their allies, and even those who were keeping neutral, to warn them of the Wraith threat. He was even willing to get word to their enemies, because, as Jack declared, no one deserved to be sucked dry by space vampire aliens. If those enemies were wary, or openly scoffing and claiming scare tactics, well, that was their look-out, and he had done his best, his conscience clear.

Since Declassification, too, he had been doing his best to recruit as many experts as he could, from around the world. All of his department heads had wish-lists of the people they wanted brought into the project. The SGC mail boxes and email servers were overloaded with applications. Newbies still needed training, indoctrination into the SGC Tao, as Rodney referred to it. Military, scientists (hard *and* soft), diplomats and explorers all needed introduction to whole new concepts of the dangers and possibilities when you played with aliens day-by-day, to say nothing of their ‘stuff’. 

And if Jack gave preferential treatment to those who ticked the gender box ‘other’? Well, that was an open secret these days. He had already opened the door for zeds, had been more than happy to draft the less-educated but skilled workers in the various trades, where most zeds tended to end up if they couldn’t find a way into degree programs. Even Atlantis needed plumbers, electricians, farmers, builders, cooks, maintenance people and janitors... so did the SGC headquarters under a Colorado Mountain, for that matter. Sgt. Siler could always use more help carting his unreasonably big wrenches around. A lot of new staff had already begun showing up on the city, wide-eyed and ecstatic about their new lives.

Woolsey welcomed all the returnees. He had let the Garcia subset arrange new accommodations for Spencer and his growing family. There was a separate suite for Diana, and nursery space for the babies, fully equipped with cribs, changing tables, a monitoring system that would alert Spencer no matter where he was on the city, and a rocking chair suitable for quiet moments of nursing or communing with his babies. The quarters also included an office for him that was set up exactly like the Agent Afloat offices, so he could work from home. 

No one bothered to comment on the master bedroom – with a huge bed, double size closet and bureau drawers, already filled with his clothing on one side, and Cameron’s on the other. The two men just glanced at each other and smiled, Spencer’s cheeks taking on a blush that had *everyone* cooing and going *ahh!* 

Evan Lorne was only too glad to turn the reins of Atlantis law enforcement back to him. But Anne Teldy had stood glowering at him, demanding he re-qualify for field duty, physical, firing range and psych eval, before she let him out on any new Veralin calls. 

“Psych eval? Really?” he whined. *No one* volunteered for a psych eval, if they could possibly avoid it. 

“Protocol,” Teldy insisted, not giving an inch. “You’re a parent now. You have dependants. You can go to Doc Hartley if you want, but you will go. Woolsey is sending Teyla, too, before AR-1 goes on any missions.”

That at least made some sense, Spencer thought, since Teyla was still obviously reeling from missing Tony and Tali.

“Oh, and, Dr. Reid, it’s time you learned to fly the jumpers. If you want, we can get you up to speed on our fleet of reconditioned Ancient ships, too.”

Spencer blinked. “We have Ancient ships?”

“We do now. The ship-works we found thanks to the Asuran data crystals? Doctors Zelenka, Andreeva and Kusanagi have been busy while you were gone. They were able to get three ships up and running for us. Space-worthy, cloak, shields, weapons… there’s one runabout, about twice the size of a jumper, one’s a cargo vessel, big enough to evac the whole city if we need to, and one smallish but bad-ass warship. We’ve named them the *Ford*, the *Weir* and the *Sumner*, in honor of past fallen Expedition members. I think McKay is looking them over now. He said something about wanting to make sure the minions didn’t fuck anything up. But I think his nose is just a bit out of joint because they managed it without him.”

Å 

There was a homecoming celebration in the mess hall that first night, welcoming Diana, Dimmy and JJ to the city, as well as congratulating Carson on his return to them. The hole that remained where Tony and Tali ought to be was keenly felt, but everyone still had hopes of their safe return. 

Daniel stood up at one point and said, “Ronon. I heard you had a story from Sateda to tell Dr. Sandburg while you were on Earth. Do you think you could tell us now?”

Daniel, in particular, had spent a lot of time with the various Pegasus natives, getting them to tell their stories, anxious to preserve what he could of cultures that had been culled to near, or actual, extinction. 

Ronon nodded. It gave him some comfort, after all, to know the legacy of his people would not be entirely lost and forgotten.

“I guess you mean our legend of the Protectors of Sateda, and the great Awakening?”

Daniel nodded. 

Ronon bowed, then closed his eyes, and when he re-opened them, he had taken on the cloak of bard, like the highly-revered story-tellers of his people. 

“There was a Time Before, when we ranged as hunters, tribes following the herds in their migrations. Each tribe had a Protector, as they had a chieftain, a shaman-healer, a leader of the hunters, a trainer of the young hunters, and a story-teller, keeper of the past. All had a place, all were necessary. Tribes who had these people did well and survived in the harsh seasons or when game was scarce. Those that did not… perished. 

“Some tales mention the Veralin, who, although rare, were always among us, and highly revered, always, shamans and elders in their own right.

“But as Satedan civilization rose, some of the traditional roles became unnecessary, or so it seemed. The Protectors and the Shamans, in particular, slept… the world had become too loud, too crowded, too fixed in one fortified place for a Protector. As the people became settled, they also became too mired in mundane things, with knowledge gained and ways of dealing that replaced Shaman skills. It seemed the old ways were no longer needed for survival. The Veralin walked among us still, rare as ever, but known and honored for their wisdom and counsel, as teachers, healers and elders to our people. But Shamans and Protectors slept, their memory kept alive by the story-tellers. 

“Until the Wraith rose up. Then there came the first culling of Sateda… and that night, there was a mass Awakening. That is what we came to call it. The Awakening. Every Protector, and every Shaman rose up and joined the Veralin in defense. Some believe it was the Veralin who woke them… No Wraith could stand against them. Not against the fury of a Protector, or the mind-withering control of an enraged Veralin. Taken onto a hive, they stormed through and destroyed every Wraith in their path, until the hive itself fell. And ever after, all Protectors were revered, as were their Shaman and/or Veralin guide partners. 

“I have no doubt that’s why, in the final attack, the Wraith chose not to meet us on the ground. They bombed us from orbit, until our numbers were so few we could be overwhelmed. All Veralin and all shamans were slaughtered out of hand, too dangerous to the Wraith to be permitted to live, even for feeding. As for any Protectors they captured alive… like me… We were made Runners. We were considered the ultimate test of a Wraith’s fighting ability. Merely surviving an encounter with me or one of my kind was considered a victory, even if it was only by running away to escape my wrath through a ring of the ancestors. 

“Dr. Sandburg told me that Protectors, or as he knows them, Sentinels, were considered a myth on Earth, as well, until they suddenly started appearing all over the place. And I know why. As the Lucians and Trust began to attack and capture Veralin, *of course* Protectors would rise to defend and rescue the Veralin. It’s in our nature. 

“How many people are there on Earth? Billions? How many might be sentinels, awake or not? I almost feel sorry for any jerks who try to take your planet. They’re facing one hell of an Awakening.”

Å 

Spencer spent the next few days and weeks getting used to parenthood, the schedule demanded by his babies’ feeding schedule, and getting caught up on his work. AR-5, under Major Anne Teldy, had been doing a fine job in his absence, answering the Veralin calls. Major Evan Lorne had become the interim MP buzz-kill on the city, and more than happy to turn that duty over to Spencer. 

McKay was finally satisfied that his people had actually managed fine without him… although they had the good sense to wait until his return to attempt to re-charge their first ZPM at the facility they had found from the Asuran data crystals, and re-conditioned. 

But the real concern for all the Atlantis residents was the ongoing argument of what to do about the Wraith. Everyone knew, by now, that all the True Wraith remaining were massing together in one great Swarm, packing to leave Pegasus Galaxy behind. No one had any doubt that they were going to launch for the Milky Way, any day now. The only question seemed to be why they hadn’t already left.

Earth had weapons and a Shield, yes, and warships, a few anyway… but with the numbers being reported for the Swarm, there was little confidence that Earth could withstand such an attack. And what of the thousands upon thousands of other populated worlds in the Milky Way, only a very small handful with space-capabilities or weapons that might protect them from even a single Wraith hive? They all needed Atlantis, and even the great Alteran war-city might not be enough to win the inevitable coming battles. 

But if they left Pegasus, again… did Atlantis, with all her technology, all her power, belong to Milky Way or Pegasus? Which galaxy had best claim on her time and attention? It was a bitter argument, whether the people of Earth even had the right to make such a decision. The Pegasus natives on the city, and those on the mainland, certainly didn’t like the idea of being left in the lurch, even if the Wraith were all gone. And what if even one Wraith hive was left behind, to rebuild and eat their way through the Pegasus again? Without Atlantis, no one would ever be safe. And the people of Pegasus had grown used to feeling safe under the Lantean city’s wide skirts. 

The debates showed a distressing indication of growing more heated as the time drew near, when the Atlantis Expedition executive would have to make a decision... or have to face orders from another galaxy.

Å 

Once again, the alarm of an unknown incoming wormhole brought more than just the Atlantis leadership to the Ops deck. Atlantis alerted other interested parties to attend when an in-bound transmission was recognized. 

When Spencer and Diana arrived, carrying Dimmy and JJ with Cameron in tow, they found Woolsey, Sheppard and McKay, Teyla and Ronon, Daniel and Vala already there, watching a big screen holograph that floated over the stargate deck. Upon it was the smiling pink-and-purple mottled face of the Furling Elder, Jahar himself.

“Greetings, Atlantis and our Furalin among you. For those of you I have not yet met, I am Jahar, leader of the Council of Twelve of the Furling. I have called with an invitation for you to come and meet with us. As many or as few as you choose to send will be welcome among us, at a time convenient to you. Is this of interest to you?”

“Yes!” Daniel was the first and loudest voice of several who spoke up, to no one’s surprise. He had been waiting for this, preparing for it, for months. Even Woolsey could only shake his head and sigh. It wasn’t as if he had much of a choice. Contact with the fourth and most elusive of the Four Great Races had long been the primary goal of the SGC, practically a mandate. 

“I have transmitted our stargate address to the city. Come when you can. We have much to discuss.” 

Å 

Daniel and Rodney insisted they be with the diplomatic team, which inevitably meant Sheppard and Vala would be going as well, and the remainder of AR-1, Teyla and Ronon, would not be left behind. Spencer and Diana had been specifically invited, which meant Cameron and Anne Teldy’s AR-5 would be going with. Woolsey asked if Carson wanted to go, but the doctor was still a bit touchy about leaving the city after his kidnapping. He was content with his visits to the blue jungle, and anything Jahar might choose to impart to him there. 

Unspoken but recognized by many was the realization that this meeting was primarily Furalin business. Therefore, all the Furalin on the city had been given the option of attending, if they wished. But, like Carson, the others, including Radek, Miko, Dr. Hartley, were content to remain behind. 

So it was AR-1, AR-5, Daniel, Vala, Cameron and the Reids (and cats, of course) who geared up and loaded into a jumper for the trip to the Furling home world. They were fully equipped with diaper bags and emergency baby rations for Meredith Joy, Dimmy and JJ. Yes, the babies were going too. Their parents would not countenance leaving them behind. Not when they were going to meet ‘the relatives’, as Vala referred to them. 

It was something of a shock, then, when the jumper drifted through the stargate, and into… 

… an *almost* identical stargate landing deck, in an *almost* identical command tower.

Arrayed around the upper ops deck were a circle of twelve Furling elders, all clothed in soft pale robes that extended from neck to ankles, so the pink-and-purple swirls, stripes and spots of the zed skin patterns were visible only on their hands and bald, high-domed heads. Behind them were their human-looking Furalin, attending to duties, yes, but avidly curious to see their Tau’ri cousins. 

It was Jahar himself who descended the steps to the lower stargate deck, to meet those coming off the parked jumper. His smile was huge… big enough for two faces. The other Furling elders seemed just as jubilant… almost glowing, and not in an Ascended-being way. Jahar’s arms were wide open, happily embracing them all, one after the other, and even more welcoming of the non-zeds in the party, as well as cooing and grinning over the babies. 

“Ah, the next generation. So beautiful, so strong, so healthy. What a wondrous gift to us all! And Elder Diana… I welcome you most heartily. Like Daniel, you are among the first to *choose* to return to your true heritage. Soon we will hail you Furalin, as well. But… congratulate us, children, for we are all with child! It will be most correct to refer to us as female, now.”

There was much patting on backs at this news… no wonder Jahar was glowing with happiness.

“But come, come, all be welcome here. We have set aside a meeting room. We have much to discuss.”

Å 

With twelve Furling remaining, six mated pairs, there were six colonies, spread widely over the Pegasus Galaxy, for security’s sake. That lesson they had learned well. If one were discovered or threatened, the other five would survive. All six were in Alteran-constructed cities, like this one, Ilium, and near identical. They were all about a quarter of the size of Atlantis, but built on the same design, snowflakes and fairy-tale towers. All six possessed shields and cloaks, were powered by ZPMs, possessed operational star-drives, full silos of drones, and full complements of armed jumpers. If they had had the population for it, they might have built more jumpers. In their city archives were the instructions and blueprint templates, and in the lower below-sea levels the manufacturing complexes and resources necessary. 

That had been something of a shock to the Lanteans. Analogous manufacturing facilities existed in Atlantis, too. As they were all located below the waterline, they had been largely flooded when the Expedition arrived. Most were still not pumped out, not yet explored for more than a few floors, like the West Tower 5 Aquarium, due to the extensive repairs and clean-up required. With limited manpower, there had been no reason, before now, to prioritize those jobs. Well. If Atlantis possessed similar facilities, cleaning out the under-structures had suddenly leaped to the top of the priority to-do lists. Even ZPM canisters could be built there, although empty and inert, to be powered remotely, due to the hazards involved. 

But, still, with only twelve Furling and less than three hundred Furalin in total, there was barely enough of a population to keep all six cities running. There were a few hundred more humans who had joined their ranks. Many were mated to a Furalin, some refugees rescued, and a few Protectors, quite a few of them Runners freed from their trackers. Each city had a total population of around two hundred, which was barely enough to keep the gene pools viable, to say nothing of the massive effort required to maintain and run the outpost cities properly. And among Pegasus Furalin, although all of their offspring bred true as Furalin, their mating cycles were few and far between, not more than once a year. Their birth rate had not changed in Pegasus since the original Furalin had been created in Lantean labs.

The Furling council was *extremely* curious about what made the Tau’ri Furalin so different. How could there possibly be any with only part of the DNA required? A truncated Z chromosome with no ATA component? Especially since without the ATA, the Z-positives were robbed of the ability to fully express Furalin traits. Not just dual genders, but to either access or control the psychic connections to any external resonating crystal or living being that was the Furling legacy to them. That… *amputation* on the genetic level seemed anathema to them. It had to have been some intervention of the Ancestors, but *why*? Therefore the Furling were especially jubilant to welcome Daniel and Diana. The *chosen* Furalin. 

“But that is not why we called for this meeting,” Jahar confessed, stilling the questions and enthusiasms of his… no, *her* fellow elders. 

“We, the Furling, still have resources and abilities you do not yet know. Strong as you are, my Furalin children, you are not quite as strong as we, the elders and true Furling. 

“We have taken careful note of the movements and disposition of all remaining Wraith, both True and Changed. 

“We can now confirm with some assurance that the Changed will no longer pose a problem for any of us. The hundred-seventy-one hives that took the retrovirus and escaped or survived the civil war with the True Wraith, have one and all gone into hiding. Some have fled to abandoned worlds, long left empty from being culled to extinction. Those that can have taken refuge with their Wraith-worshipper tribes, and then relocated to other viable planets they deem unknown, and therefore safe from the reprisals of their unchanged cousins. We have carefully marked all of these, and will continue to monitor. Only some of these refuge worlds have stargates. 

“But there have been some… unexpected side-effects with the retrovirus mutation. First, and perhaps most important, once the retrovirus was administered, the hives and other space craft also began to change. You know, of course, that Wraith technology is biological in nature, and their craft are grown, not built? Well, once they were landed in viable atmospheres, they began to disintegrate. We do not believe the Changed are able to generate ships of any kind any longer. They are effectively grounded. Those on worlds without stargates or with only orbital gates, are now trapped on their chosen worlds. This will *greatly* reduce their ability to trouble any of their neighbors, for some considerable time, even if they wanted to. 

“And, although it seems the Changed Queens can still breed, it is not in great numbers, as before. Each spawning produces only a dozen or so eggs each, the Queens seem greatly drained by the effort so are not able to breed more than once in a season… all offspring possess the retrovirus alterations, no more than one drone in each clutch, and so far, no new queens. The newly hatched are small, slow to grow, more in line with a human-like growth cycle. We do not know yet what sort of life-span the Changed may have, but without feeding directly on life-force, I doubt it is anything like the virtual immortality of the True Wraith. Already it seems their healing and regenerative abilities were directly tied to their food-source, so they are no longer as resistant to injury or illness as they were.”

Spencer blinked at this news. “Then… with such a lowered birth-rate, and only one breeding queen per population… in one generation, however long or short a time that may be for them, their numbers will be *drastically* reduced.”

Jahar nodded. “That is so. I believe you have a concept of something you call *karma*? It seems to me it has now caught up with the Wraith. It remains to be seen if they can survive at all, without new queens. I suspect some biological trigger may still exist in the race to create one, however rare. We will continue to monitor. There appears to be a period of adjustment they require, to get used to their new biology, and to acclimatize to eating solid plant-or-animal-based food. We will reveal later what plans we are forming for future contact with these colonies.”

That comment got the Lantean visitors exchanging glances and raised brows.

“As for the True Wraith… A few hives are still attempting to… gather resources, culling for food among those very few colonies they think are free from Hoffan plague. Strangely, they are discovering those colonies are empty, the people fled, with no clue left behind where they might have gone.” Jahar said this with a wink and a knowing smile. “But, in less than a ten-day, they will have to give up their search, and join the rest of the Swarm. Then all will launch for the Milky Way Galaxy. 

“We know that your people have been hotly debating what you should do, what would be the best use of Atlantis in this case. 

“Children, my Furalin… we know your heart is with Earth, and the peoples of the Milky Way, at severe risk from the oncoming Wraith Swarm. We know you also feel a duty to stay and protect the beleaguered Pegasus Galaxy. We know you are torn on what to do, and if you should leave, as you will no doubt soon be ordered to do, it will grieve you excessively. 

“We have asked you here, revealing the cities we have built, the resources we have amassed, to show you that you need not worry over the fate of Pegasus any longer. Know that we have a *complete* census of all the denizens of our galaxy. Asuran, Lantean, rogue Asgard, Wraith True and Changed, as well as humans. Every inhabited world is known to us, every stargate plotted, every Traveler ship tracked. 

“While our numbers were so desperately restricted, we *could not* battle the Wraith on our own, or risk revealing ourselves. But with the coming of the Earth Expedition, all of that changed. You have done what the old Lanteans never could… you have forced the Wraith to change, forced them to run. More, you have brought our lost, forgotten children back to us… the zeds of Earth. Your courage, your insight, your determination… it has been like a cleansing wind to us, the Furling elders, when we are sometimes too afraid to put our necks out, fearing the cost. 

“Without the Wraith threat, and at the urging of our own Furalin children, we will once again walk out among the populations of Pegasus, offering guidance and help where we can… warnings where we must, and using our great power to keep the peace and protect the helpless. The mandate of law enforcement is to serve and protect, and we…” Jahar looked around at her nodding elders, “We are resolved to be the new sheriffs in town.”

“Son of a gun…” Sheppard whispered. 

Teyla was the first to speak into the shocked, but hopeful, void. With a respectful nod, all the grace of a practiced leader and diplomat at her disposal, she said, “I honor the Furling, and their children the Veralin. This decision is certainly most welcome…” and if she also thought, ‘and a good deal too late’, there was no sign on her face, “and we are grateful for your intervention at this time. It relieves us all greatly that Pegasus will be protected and nurtured, even if we must leave, for a time at least, to defend another galaxy from the same scourge we have lived under for thousands of years.”

Jahar bent her head, as if she had heard the unspoken qualification. “Dear Teyla, honored Protector, you have every right to resent us for not acting before this. But please, understand… we are so very few. Just twelve of us left after the long years of hiding and fending off the Wraith. Believe me, as fiercely as they have hunted your people across the face of the galaxy, they have been *desperate* to find and destroy all of us who remain. Furling and Furalin alike. And our *only* viable defense was to hide. It took every bit of energy and strength we possessed to elude them. 

“But now… now that horrific and ultimately doomed siege-state is no longer necessary. We have already replenished our spent energies. We have begun to rebuild. All twelve of us are pregnant… two with twins… we will have doubled our numbers within the year. Although it will be a considerable time before our cycle renews, we already can see a future for our race that, scant months ago, we believed impossible. Likewise, our Furalin here – your Veralin – prepare to move out to the scattered colonies, and they, too, have plans to breed at their next heat. 

“We will find all of the survivors of the Wraith scourge, and help them rebuild, as well. For those many populations too small to continue on their own, we will be happy to welcome them among us. We are, in fact, *desperate* to expand our own numbers. Or, if they choose not to come to us, we will help negotiate merging between tribes in similar straights. For the Genii and their militant off-shoots, we will offer peaceful negotiations to better live with their neighbors and kin. But we will not allow them to run rough-shod over the galaxy any longer. 

“And for the many refuges of the Changed… to them also we will offer assistance and guidance, when we have determined they are ready to listen. They have never had to hunt animals, grow crops, live as farmers or humans do. Those without Wraith-worshippers to help, teach and support them will need to be taught these skills. They have already chosen not to kill humans, or us, for their food, and we will honor that choice and offer them the hand of friendship in return. How they choose to accept that… is up to them, and we will act accordingly, to strengthen ties, or to cut them, as required.

“And for all of this, we have to thank those of you here, and your comrades on the Great City of Atlantis. For the first time in fifteen thousand years, we have hope. This you have given us. Indeed, my blessed children, ‘Everything *is* magic’. Can we offer anything less to the Pegasus, or to you?”

John Sheppard glanced around the circle of his party, and said, “That’s all great news. Any hints on what you can offer us, beyond gratitude?”

Jahar and her elders chuckled. “Well, for one, we offer you our blessings, to take Atlantis where she is most needed… to the Milky Way and Earth. Should your Athosian allies on the mainland of New Lantea chose to stay behind, we will relocate one of our cities to your planet in her place. This will give them protection and access to a stargate after you leave. But also, there are skills we can teach the Furalin among you… skills that will be of great benefit to you as you deal with the Great Swarm of the True Wraith. Because, make no mistake, it is vast and terrifying in its size. Even we had little idea how many hives were still in hibernation until they emerged, one after the other, in these past few months, ravenously hungry. We can only hope that desperate hunger makes them reckless and careless in their actions. We already know their ability to form a cohesive unit is… erratic, at best. Yes, their hierarchy acknowledges the leadership of a Queen of Queens, but it takes very little for other Queens to challenge for supremacy, jockey in the line of succession, or go rogue entirely, every hive for itself. And hunger, desperation, the irresistible instinct for survival, only increases their aggression.”

Daniel and Spencer exchanged glances. Daniel said, “Any training you offer will be welcome, Elder Jahar.”

“We offer one more thing. You have our stargate address now. It is accessible from Earth. We welcome closer ties with the First World, and… please do not think this an insult, but… we are aware of the… challenges that most of our Furalin children on Earth suffer. And we offer sanctuary and refuge for any and every Earth ‘zed’ who may wish to join us. As you see, we have more than enough room for all. We would welcome them all gladly, for they are our children, our legacy.”

That left Spencer and Daniel speechless for a moment. Teyla glanced at them and took up the slack. “We will be sure to inform Earth of your generous offer. I am sure there are many who would gladly accept the offer of safe haven.”

Å


	9. Our Darkest Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Åuthor Notes: Welcome the cast of *‘Numb3rs’*, from somewhere in the middle seasons. Reference to Numb3rs Season 3, Larry’s assignment to the International Space Station for six months (which, in this AU, was a cover, and he was actually on secondment to the SGC). Reference to Stargate Atlantis episode 2-13-‘Critical Mass’ (Caldwell infected by a goa’uld). The moose is a *‘Northern Exposure’* joke.

Å 

FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Don Eppes slowly rose to his feet, glaring down at the woman slumped dead over her desk. The EMTs who had arrived on the scene first had made a mess of the door on this home office, locked from the inside, sending wood splinters all over the otherwise immaculate room. The only window was not just locked and bolted, but hermetically sealed for the sake of the air conditioning system, and there were no cracks or holes in the double-paned glass. The air return grate was tiny. Strange, then, that there should be such a reek of ozone in the air. There didn’t seem to be any other way in or out. As for the body, there were no marks to be seen on her at all, without removing clothing. Even the woman’s dark brown hair (showing grey at the roots) was still in place, scraped painfully tight into a bun at the base of her neck. To all appearances, she had just fallen forward, dead. It might be heart attack, of course… although a fit and healthy non-smoker in her mid forties... that seemed unlikely.

Even with the use of his… *special* talents, the only additional clue he could detect was a vague waft of Axe aftershave… not something the woman’s husband used. Or her lover. Or any of the EMTs and LEOs who had been in and out. But, unfortunately, it wasn’t anything he could submit as evidence, not even with the most sensitive CSI equipment. The shadowy moose peering over his shoulder huffed out a frustrated breath, then vanished, back wherever it came from. And really, a moose? What the hell was that about?

Agent Eppes recognized her at once, of course, with the amount of noise she had been making lately in the local media. Dr. Susan Calloway (doctor of what, no one seemed to know) had recently started up a grass-roots militantly anti-zed movement she named Pure Humanity Organized for Youth. Or PHOeY as it was jokingly referred to. Seemingly overnight, her group had gained support and a *lot* of funding from unknown sources. They seemed geared to throw their political weight around southern California. Their candidate of choice was a member of the state assembly they were touting as the next governor. The formerly obscure political player, Assemblyman Marvin Williams, was said to be having an affair with Dr. Calloway, both of whom were married, to other people.

Agent David Sinclair, the team 2IC, was just clicking shut his cell phone as he joined Don. “Colby’s got his hands full with his case. LAPD is doing their best to contain the scene, but it’s the middle of Manhattan Beach, and there was already a hell of a crowd when someone realised he was dead.”

“Another one like this, no marks?”

“Oh, there’s a mark. Single high-calibre bullet, middle of his forehead. Sniper shot, from a hell of a distance. Our buddy Ian Edgerton might have been able to make the shot, but… not too many others, outside trained military snipers. Colby’s already got a call in to Ian, see if he can give us an assist on this one.”

Don sighed, hating this already. The body on the beach was… yes, Assemblyman Marvin Williams, who probably would have taken up a career as a beach bum, if his family hadn’t pushed him into politics.

“There was another assassination this morning, in DC, right? Couple of hours ago? High calibre sniper shot?”

David nodded, and he stiffened as he realised what Don already suspected. “Yeah. Marine general, wants all zeds legally barred from any military service. Been protesting O’Neill’s allowing zeds in the HomeWorld organization. I think NCIS took over that investigation. You think there’s a link?”

“I know damn well there’s a link. Zeds. Probably HomeWorld, too. Okay. I want to check the current where-abouts and status of… two more people. A businessman, probably somewhere in New York City, named Anthony D. DiNozzo Senior. And just about any former members of the IOA, but particularly the Russian rep, somewhere in Russia or maybe Europe, Arseny Ivanov. Get Liz and Nikki on it. And I want to know *yesterday*.” 

David nodded. “You think they’re already dead.”

“Yeah, and if they are…”

“The prime suspects are all members of HomeWorld Security. The first and biggest supporter of zed rights, world-wide.”

“Plus their friends and families. And that’s gonna look really convenient when the media jumps on this with both feet. And that’s going to happen any moment now. David, we need to keep a lid on this as long as possible. I want the whole team to move into the SCIF, and stay there for the duration of the investigation. We can’t just assume we’re on our own, not now. Colby’s on the beach?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. You both know what you’re going to find, what it’s been made to look like, but I need you to go beyond that and find the truth.”

“If there’s anything to find. If you ask me, they had help that was… ‘out of this world’. And whoever it is also has some impressive skills.”

“Yeah, well, so do we. Tell Colby… he might be looking for someone who likes Axe body spray a little too much.” Colby Granger, former military intelligence, also had some… sensitive senses to call up. And the shadow of a big cat of some kind at his back, so much cooler than a damn moose.

Don was thinking madly as he made his way out of the Calloway house into the bright Los Angeles morning sunshine. David followed him, warily looking around for surveillance they no doubt had on them, and had no hope of detecting, no matter how good the senses.

“What are you going to be doing?”

“Something that’s going to put me in a very deep hole.”

“Want company?”

“Hell, no. I want you in place to take over the team. You know how much I hate conspiracy theories, but…”

“Yeah. This is just step one.”

“Even if we can keep this secret, they’ll be ready to leak it any time they’re ready. And by that time it might already be too late to stop whatever else is going down. Keep the home fires burning, David. Don’t let the assholes win.”

“Good luck, boss. Catch you on the other side.”

Å 

Don bypassed their own department SUV, slowing just long enough to ditch his radio and cell inside it, and grabbed keys from a startled LEO to a random squad car. That was just to get him to the nearest subway access point. He had stopped briefly in one of the station platform shops to buy himself a new cell. He sent a brief text to Charlie, and waited for the number to come back. He made a quick pay-phone call to David to get an update… about what he thought he would hear. Then he found himself a deserted subway platform, and prayed he could get reception with all the concrete and steel around him. He had to walk around a bit, before he found a hot spot with three bars. Then he dialed the very private number.

“Agent Hetty Lange? I’m FBI Agent Don Eppes, Charlie Eppes’s brother. We met…”

“Agent Eppes. Yes, we’ve met, and locked horns, on any number of cases. What can I do for you?”

“Yeah. I’m about to do something grossly illegal and inappropriate, that will probably get my ass canned for the rest of time. And that is to reveal the details of a highly sensitive ongoing murder investigation well within FBI jurisdiction to an outside federal agency. I believe my present location and communications to be secure, but that won’t last long. 

“Within the past twelve hours, there have been at least five high-profile deaths under suspicious circumstances. You heard about Marine General Joseph Schmidt, killed this morning on the front steps of his Arlington home? I was called to the Calloway house less than an hour ago to find Dr. Susan Calloway, director of Pure Humanity Organized for Youth, dead, in a locked room, with no visible signs of struggle or injury. The easiest explanation is that someone with access to advanced and highly restricted alien technology beamed in, double-zatted her, and beamed out again. While at the scene, we had word of another victim, of a sniper, at Manhattan Beach. Assemblyman Marvin Williams, vocal supporter of PHOeY. I had my people check on a couple of others… after our call, LEO’s in Amagansett Long Island found Anthony D. DiNozzo Senior dead on the beach near his cottage, another sniper shot. And, ma’am… A former member of the IOA, currently supposed to be in hiding, Arseny Ivanov, is also dead, in a home in Toulouse, France, where he was hiding out under an assumed name. When the local gendarme checked at the house, he found the staff in an up-roar. Ivanov was found dead on the carpet in the library. They had to break the door down to get in, just like Calloway. They think it was a heart attack, but we both know the autopsy will reveal something more sinister.”

“Oh bugger.” 

“Yeah, what you said.”

“A locked-door mystery? A body in the library? Someone out there has a very sick sense of humor.”

“Yes, ma’am. This smells to high heaven, but I don’t know if my team will be able to get past the set dressing to the real perpetrators. And we’re the best there is. You can trust my team to find anything they can. But... Certainly not before *someone* leaks it to the press. Then we’ve got a shit-storm of monumental proportions headed our way. You might want to check on other high-profile enemies of either the HWS in particular, or zeds in general, and it looks like it’s going to be global, rather than just here in the US. I doubt these five will be the only ones. They’re just the ones I knew of and could check in the past hour. And once the ball starts rolling…”

“It’ll take the SGC and HomeWorld Security with it.”

“That’s my thinking, ma’am. I’m guessing HWS is the primary target, but they seem to be aiming at zeds, as well. Whoever ‘they’ are… They’ve got a pretty narrow window. Now that the Shield is up and the weapons platforms deployed, they’re trapped, and once Atlantis gets back… they’ve only got a few short months to bring the whole shooting match down and take command. This will just be the first step.”

Hetty sighed. “Yes, that’s what I’m thinking… thank you for the heads-up, agent. By the way… why did you call me, specifically, me?”

“I know you’ve been keeping a watch on high profile zed assets on the west coast, having my brother Charlie tailed. I haven’t called you on it because I figure you have your reasons, probably on orders from HWS. I need all the help I can get protecting my brother, especially in light of the mass zed abductions. Best not tell Charlie, but there will *never* come a time when I object to more help wrangling my little brother. The guy may be a genius, but he’s also a goddamned trouble magnet.”

“No need to say more, agent. I am familiar with the breed.”

“Yeah, I guess you are at that. So, anyway, I figured you have a direct line to the appropriate people at HWS. They need to know, soonest.”

“And… how do you know they *aren’t* the ones behind these crimes?”

“Please,” Don sounded pained. “There’s no way O’Neill, or any of his people, are stupid enough to leave bodies behind.”

“I keep underestimating you Eppes boys, and it bites me in the ass every time.” Hetty sighed. “Yes, agent, I’ve been directed by my contacts at HWS to keep an eye on the zed situation. I’m going to have to take action on this latest wrinkle, and if anyone finds out you spilled to me…”

Don huffed. “You think that’s going to matter in a few hours, maybe sooner? They’re gonna blow this sky-high exactly when they want to, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it. Whoever ‘they’ are. But it’s time to circle the wagons and go to Plan B.” 

“You have a Plan B?” 

Don huffed again. “I may not be the genius in my family, but I’m not a complete boob. Even I can add up this equation. Zeds have been on the firing line since Sulfur Springs. You bet I have a Plan B. Not to mention Plan C-thru-Z. I just hope HWS is ready, too.” 

Hetty chuckled. “Oh, I’m certain they are. Good luck then, agent.”

Don signed off, stepped on the cell, and tossed its shards on the tracks, ready to catch the next train. 

Å 

As soon as Hetty hung up on the call from Agent Eppes, she called Vice Admiral (retired) AJ Chegwidden, on duty at his office at the SGC.

“AJ? That wily Reid kid was right again. You’re going to need to implement Red Sea.”

“Hell. You sure?”

Hetty filled in her old partner in crime. “Now, AJ. They won’t give us much time.”

Hetty looked up to find her team gathering around her desk, looking concerned. She sighed and took a deep breath, then a long sip of that precious Athosian tea Jack supplied her. Then she closed her eyes, said a quick calming mantra, and briefed her people on this current drama, then set them to work. 

“Eric, Nell, call up all the information you can on murders, world-wide, with some connection either to anti-zed sentiments, or directly with HWS, its agencies and personnel. Callen, Sam, get on the phone to our other offices… Dwayne Pride, Balboa at the Navy Yard…”

Callen gave her a raised brow. “Not Director Vance?”

“Hell no. He’s already in charge of investigating suspicious deaths in Washington, and I don’t want to distract him from… whatever mess he’s got himself into. Let’s give him all the rope he needs. I’m trying to get Owen on the line, but he’s out of country. Kenzie, call your buddies in Honolulu. Steve McGarrett needs a heads-up too, because the world is about to go ape-shit, and they’ll want to take it all out on zeds. He can expect a flood of refugees any time now. Deeks, you have FBI contacts. Call them. Tobias Fornell, Aaron Hotchner, Sam Cooper, Jack Garrett… No need to call Don Eppes, he already knows. But anyone else you can think of that you can trust. I have a list myself, most of a rather higher security level, including CIA Director Pamela Landy. I’ll send you all a list of more contacts, we’ll divide it up, make sure we get as many as possible alerted. I’ll call Clyde Easter and Emily Prentiss at Interpol myself. Everyone clear? Then get busy. Once the avalanche begins, it’ll only gather speed and destructive potential.”

Å 

By the time Agent Don Eppes hit daylight, TV monitors tuned to ZNN were already splashing the faces of Calloway and Williams across their screens, with teletype information on their deaths no reporter should have. Hell, even Don didn’t have some of it! Their reports included the underline of the victims’ connection to the anti-zed movement.

He used a pay phone to call for transport. David showed up soon after with his SUV and official cell phone.

“It didn’t take them long,” David grimaced. “The Assistant Director wants you in his office, like, yesterday.”

Don nodded. He checked his voice mail, and there were frantic calls from Charlie and his father. On the way back to headquarters, he called them both, gave his father meaningless phrases of reassurance, but to Charlie...

“Time to get with your Blue Jungle pals, Charlie. It may be time to get people on yellow alert, at least.”

“What? Don, how do you know...”

“Come on, Charlie. No time to waste. We won’t know how bad this is going to get until it’s too late, and you need your analyst guys to figure out when to push the panic button. Right?”

“Right. Right... I’ll... get on that now.”

Half an hour later, Don emerged from the Assistant Director’s office, without his badge or gun, fired to hell and back, although they were calling it ‘administrative suspension pending investigation’ for now. Agent Colby Granger was still at the beach with an investigation team and Agent Ian Edgerton, an FBI ‘retrieval specialist’ and expert on snipers. So it was just David, with agents Liz Warner and Nikki Betancourt to say good bye. He shook hands solemnly, and said only, “Keep your heads, and don’t get stupid. Don’t let the ass-holes win.”

Å 

Don headed straight for his father’s house, and then the two of them sprawled on the couch to watch the on-rushing current events on Alan’s big-screen TV, with beers in hand, and a huge pot of three-alarm chili cooking away in the kitchen. Charlie, Larry and Amita joined them after classes ended. Charlie, of course, was trailed by his constant companion, a black-and-white tuxedo cat he named Pythagoras, who had just… showed up one day, and never left. Larry brought more beer, Amita thought to bring wine, rice, cheese, and French loaves for the chili. She made a big salad, too. They were expecting the FBI crowd to arrive soon. Sure enough, Don’s ex-team mates weren’t long in arriving with more alcohol, beer and snacks, Colby dragging Ian Edgerton with him. 

It was going to be a memorable wake… with history playing before them on the big screen.

Names and pictures of the dead flooded past, some infamous, some obscure. 

USMC Brigadier General Joseph Schmidt, who had been lobbying for all zeds to be legally barred from any and all military service, and protested O’Neill’s recruitment of zeds to HomeWorld. He was hit by a sniper shot, on the front steps if his Arlington home. 

Dr. Susan Calloway, head of the anti-zed Pure Humanity Organized for Youth. California state legislature assemblyman Marvin Williams, PHOeY supporter and having an affair with Calloway, although no one thought adultery was the reason for their deaths. 

Anthony D. DiNozzo Senior, shot at his Hamptons retreat. 

A New York City cable TV shock-jock who had made himself a name for his ultra-conservative and virulent anti-zed sentiments. He broke the story on the numbers of zeds recently released from prisons with full pardons. He was quoted as calling it a ‘national disgrace and gross miscarriage of justice, letting those mutant degenerate animals loose among decent people’. 

Arseny Ivanov, former member of the International Oversight Advisory board that used to oversee HomeWorld, and was responsible for leaking the details of Project Bluebook, found dead in a house in Toulouse France, under an assumed name. Other individuals connected to the IOA were also among the dead. Antoine DuPont, IOA French rep and Chairman. Crispin Paddington, a former IOA accountant (and first cousin to one Anthony D. DiNozzo *Junior*), Aviv Charnas, IOA Israeli liaison. 

Ex-Air Force Master Sergeant Donnetti, in Leavenworth, a former *Daedalus* quartermaster dishonorably discharged for smuggling. Ex-airman Albert Sawyer, in Leavenworth, also former *Daedalus* crew, also dishonorably discharged for smuggling… 

The list went on, and on.

Leonard Burkhart… Leonard who, Don wondered? Only to have the teletype obligingly fill him in. Burkhart was a prison guard with a long list of complaints against him for excessive force used against minorities, but particularly brutal with zeds. He had been implicated in no less than seven suspicious deaths of zed prisoners in the various institutions he had worked over the years. He was currently the subject of a Department of Justice inquiry, launched since the Sulfur Springs cases. Before that he was an Air Force captain, cashiered out decades ago as ‘other than honorable’, for what reasons, ZNN didn’t know. 

It was about the only detail they didn’t have conveniently served to them on a platter. And what they didn’t know, they were wildly speculating about.

All victims dead in the past twenty-four hours, all in highly suspicious circumstances, and all with some manner of hostile relationship to the SGC or HomeWorld Sec, or known anti-zed sympathizers. 

Charlie could only sit and gape, dazed by the onrush of revelations over the TV screen. His right hand tightened around his wife’s, while his left obsessively stroked the purring cat in his lap. 

Then there came word of the death or disappearance of key members of the Pentagon, Congress, the Senate, even the Judiciary…

Shit, it was going to look like a full-blown coup attempt…

By the time rice, chili and salad was dished up and passed around, ZNN already had a banner title for it all: ‘Night of the Long Knives’. Only thing they got wrong was who was doing the cutting.

Teams of federal agents had deployed all over the country… FBI, Secret Service, Homeland Sec, and, for reasons no one was quite sure, in Washington DC, the investigations were being led by NCIS. That was a small and obscure federal agency that usually only had jurisdiction over crimes directly involving Navy or Marine personnel or their dependants. But the first casualty in DC had been a USMC General, so yeah, NCIS got the call. Everybody, it seemed, was getting in on the fun, pounding on doors with arrest warrants. Camera crews caught close-ups of a number of agents in charge striding up various front walks in Washington DC, Groom Lake Nevada and Colorado Springs. The audience at the Eppes house cheered and jeered the faces they knew… 

Don groaned particularly loudly at one familiar agent. “Oh no, not that asshole! Ron Sacks is a nincompoop. Always was. Bottom of his class at Quantico. But he’s got a highly placed ‘uncle’. He’s had it in for Tony DiNozzo since he tried, *three times* to arrest the guy for murder, three separate cases. It’s FBI legend, what a fool he made of himself over those… there’s jokes about him accusing DiNozzo of the Marie Celeste, DB Cooper and Jimmy Hoffa... and every murder that comes across his desk, they say he looks at DiNozzo first.” 

Funny thing, though, they weren’t finding too many people at home. 

“No kidding,” Don scoffed. “Nobody’s there.”

“You sure, Don?” Alan Eppes asked anxiously. 

“Absolutely positive. They were ready for something like this. I guarantee it.”

Colby gave him a sharp look. “Because you would be.”

“Damn straight. Just like you and your Blue Jungle friends, Charlie. And maybe it’s time to make that call for emergency prep. I don’t like the way they seem to be setting up not just the HWS, but zeds, too. In fact… Amita, this is the perfect time to go visit your parents in India. Charlie, you should go too. Larry, it’s time for another walk-about. Maybe go bunk with Megan for a while, if you don’t have other plans in place.”

Charlie blinked. “Don? Surely we’ll have at least a few days before we need to leave… That’s what our people are telling us, although they agree we should start with a yellow alert, pack a go-bag to leave at the door... What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that by the time the eleven o’clock news rolls around, we’re going to find ourselves with a new, un-elected provisional government. They’re going to tell us that everything is under control, but believe me, they won’t have the first fucking clue. They’ll want to get at the ships, the Orbital Weapons Platforms, the Planetary Shield, a few other critical things… but if I’m right, it’ll all be locked down tight, and any scientists who might be able to help them will be long gone, probably on one of our ships in orbit right now. So they’re going to have to go looking for the next best thing. You three will be at the top of their list, too high profile to ignore. Larry, you actually have alien tech experience. Charlie, not just because you’re a genius, but you’re also a zed, and that certainly won’t help your case with these people. Once they declare Martial Law, it may be too late for any of you to hide. They’ll be stupid not to lock it all up, that’s where this whole thing is headed. Once they do, we won’t have a lot of choice in anything that happens the next few months.”

“Until Atlantis returns,” Larry mused.

Don nodded. “I think all three of you need to disappear. Like… tonight. Don’t wait for tomorrow, you can’t take the chance. And pass the word to your zeds. And… You might want to alert your math and science colleagues as well. They’ll be grabbing all the egg-heads they can get their hands on, under the excuse of eminent domain.” 

Charlie began to get a stubborn set to his chin, but Don held up a hand. “It’s not just you, Charlie. Amita is two months pregnant. You don’t want her in harm’s way, and you don’t want her going anywhere without you. Right?”

Charlie thought about that, wavering. Then he began to laugh, “You can’t be serious about all of this! A military coup? Martial Law? Here? In the United States?”

For the very *very* smart man he knew his little brother to be, Don could only sigh. For months, Charlie and his Blue Jungle crew had been working on contingencies and emergency preparations for just this kind of crisis. But now that it was here… Charlie was in pretty deep denial about the whole thing. He only hoped others weren’t as intractable.

That’s when ZNN threw up the Presidential Seal, and announced an emergency press conference, direct from the White House.

It wasn’t President Henry Hayes standing at the podium, however, but a four-star Air Force General. He had thinning hair an unlikely shade of brown, bushy eyebrows, a bit of a paunch, and a folksy good ‘ol boy smile that reminded Don of a big friendly dog. It was enough to make any seasoned agent shudder in horror. The teleprompt title below him identified USAF General ‘Hank’ Landry, Pentagon Joint Chiefs of Staff.

“My fellow Americans. It is my sad duty at this time to tell you that an illegal attempt to over-throw our elected government by force was launched earlier today. Key members of the government, military and private sector have been assassinated, others have disappeared, still others we believe have been kidnapped. President Hayes was severely wounded in a cowardly attack on the Oval Office itself. This attack was prevented, but President Hayes is unable, at this time, to take command of the government and stem this tide. Accordingly, myself and other members of the Joint Chiefs have taken the initiative to combat this clear and present danger, and are declaring Martial Law over these United States of America. 

“We believe the source of the attempted coup to be HomeWorld Security and its agencies, including Stargate Command. I assure you, every asset at our disposal is being employed to track down and bring these cowardly traitors to our planet to justice. 

“At this time, we ask the citizens of our great nation to be patient and cooperate in every way with local authorities, both military and civilian. A strict curfew will be enforced. Travel in and out of the country will be, for the time being, restricted. Stock Trading and Banking institutions have been – for the moment - shut down. More information will be made available in due course. 

“I urge each and every one of you to remain calm. The immediate danger is over. Rest assured that we have the matter well in hand, and control will be returned to the proper civilian authorities as soon as is possible. In the meantime, I give you my personal promise that every one of you, man, woman and child, can sleep safe and secure in your beds, with the knowledge that a great and terrible evil has been rooted out of our nation this day.”

With a sigh, Larry whispered, “I don’t believe he included dual-gendered people in that promise.”

“Now…” and Landry raised his hands in the face of a forest of reporters rushing to get in his face, smiling like a kindly grandfather, with a wealth of home-spun wisdom at his disposal. “I’m sure you can all understand that we will not be taking questions at this time. Press releases and more announcements will be forth-coming over the next few days, I assure you.”

With that, Landry stepped away, and another man in uniform stepped up. According to the title below, this was ‘USAF Col. Robert Samuels, newly appointed director of the National Intelligence Division (NID)’. 

Everyone in the Eppes household took a deep breath. 

“Restricted travel,” Alan said. “Is it already too late, Donny?”

“Amita is a foreign national,” Charlie said. “Sweetheart, you may have to go on your own. Can you do that?” Charlie grimaced, standing and taking his new wife in his arms. 

“I… I don’t want to leave you!”

Don went to them, rubbing his sister-in-law soothingly on the back. “Look, it may not play out the way I think it will…”

“It has so far,” Colby commented sourly.

Nikki gave him a clout on the arm. “So-oo not helpful.”

“Amita, please,” Don said. “It’ll only be for a few months, even if worst comes to worse. And it’s only a precaution, just in case, worst case scenario stuff. Your maiden name won’t be on a watch list yet. You’re not registered as a zed, you’re not a primary, or even secondary target, and you are an Indian national. And if this thing stretches out for months… India doesn’t brand zed babies. They may not treat zeds all that well, but they don’t brand them. Think about that for a second. You can’t do any good here, and if these new jokers want to get Charlie to work for them, you’d make a perfect hostage for his good behavior. You know what I’m saying?”

Behind them, phrases like ‘suspension of civil liberties’, ‘detention without cause’ and ‘search and seizure without warrant’, flashed across the screen, an unfolding nightmare. 

Å 

Hank Landry strode into the Oval Office, and made a bee-line for the chair behind the desk. He slowly lowered himself into its executive cushions, and then eased back, even tipping ever-so-slightly, with an immensely satisfied look upon his homey, wholesome face. He’d been dreaming of this moment for a very long time. He had worked, schemed and sacrificed for it. And maybe his own plans hadn’t quite worked out as he wanted, but nevertheless, here he was finally. He deserved this.

He permitted himself that moment of victory.

Then he eyed the collection of men who had followed him. They were still standing. He found it interesting to catch some un-guarded expressions. Some of distaste, some of envy… more than a few full of worry. 

Only one man actually took a seat, and it was the closest guest chair to the President’s desk. The most privileged position in the room, beyond Hank’s own. His expression was neutral, carefully controlled, as he looked Hank dead in the eye. Secretary of Defense Raphael Dante had clearly thought he should be the one to take command after the fall of the elected government of the United States of America. Landry was well aware that Dante was easily the most intelligent man in the room – apart from himself. In the past few months, he had also discovered Dante was one of the most street-savvy and ruthless men Hank had ever encountered. All traits that made him as dangerous an ally as enemy. 

“Please be seated, gentlemen. We have a lot of work to do. Let’s get to it, shall we? 

“First off, let’s put our cards on the table, here. Yes, I was approached by the Trust. Yes, it’s full of damn goa’uld, aliens and traitors, but none of them are here right now. And, if I have my way, they won’t be. My Colonels here, Samuels and Makepeace, are with me on this. So is General Stahl over there, our brand new Secretary of the Navy. We were all just waiting, biding our time, letting the Trust do the heavy lifting for us, so we could take advantage, when the time was right. Well, that time is now. And, the good news? We know *exactly* who the enemy is, with names and addresses. Director Vance, Deputy Director Fitzgerald, I’ll pass this information to you both as soon as this meet is over, so you can round their asses up and get them behind iron bars. We are Patriots, not traitors, and your only choice right now is to help us keep control and share in the benefits, or to hand the whole damned thing to O’Neill and his lackey Hayes, without so much as a whimper. Since you’re all here… I’ll just assume it’s the former, shall I? Okay, then. So, where do we stand, Robert?”

Colonel Samuels stood at his side and read from a thick report, each page heavily edited in pen. 

“Yes, Mr. President. We have Hayes and members of his Cabinet under lock and key in the basement. It’s a little crowded down there, as we also have several less-than-cooperative generals from the Joint Chiefs, and the Directors of those federal agencies unwilling to play ball with us at this time. We were unable to locate the VP, Secretary of State, Chief of the JCS, O’Neill, Morrow or Chegwidden. We suspect they were ready for us.”

“How the hell did that happen!” demanded Vice Admiral Roger Bonneville. 

Since he actually *was* Navy, he thought he should have been the one to take over as SecNav when Sarah Porter (a civilian and a *woman* for God’s sake!) had her attack of conscience and declined to join the coup. Instead, he had been passed over, *again*. That plum had gone to an Army two star. How was that supposed to make any sense? Who would they promote next, a Russian? A fucking fuck’em, maybe? He knew that his ultra-conservative politics had made him unpopular with the Hayes crowd, and he was considered, at best, hide-bound and old-fashioned… but in *his* Navy there was no room for women or sexual deviants of any kind, be they gay or effem. That was just *asking* for trouble on the ships. He had nothing against any of them personally… but he wouldn’t want his daughter marrying one, either. All of which meant that his influence at the Pentagon had been minimal… until now. And he was hell bent on taking advantage of this opportunity. When that over-ambitious bully Stahl shoved his way into some higher position, surely *then* Roger would get the SecNav big chair.

Samuels shrugged. “Once we put our plans in place to frame our Primaries for multiple counts of murder and treason, it must have been painfully obvious that they were targets. We did all we could to shorten the time-line, but some advance notice was unavoidable. I think they were prepared for something just like this. They intended to beam Hayes out as well, but he refused. Probably some misguided notion of a captain on a sinking ship.”

Landry smirked. The Navy, represented in the room by Bonneville, grimaced, uncomfortable with that level of mockery of Naval honor. He was no friend to the Hayes government or HomeWorld, and resented the association. 

“It was probably that bastard McKay. He’s a devious fucker,” muttered General Ulysses S. Stahl, late a member of the Trust Triad, now something of a second-string ‘Patriot’, judging by his less-than-critical SecNav posting.

“No doubt,” Samuels agreed dryly. 

“And the Primaries themselves?” prompted the Secretary of Defense.

Landry and Samuels traded looks. This was not going to go down well with their associates. 

“Gone,” said Samuels. “Stargate Command was totally deserted when our forces arrived. There’s the NORAD staff upstairs at Cheyenne, that’s all. Same with HomeWorld Sec. Their offices here in DC and at Cheyenne Mountain are empty. Half the staff from Area 51 are also missing – witnesses report a series of white lights. None of the missing are our people. We haven’t been able to raise anyone at the Ancient Outpost. The Trust had three agents there, hoping to get them transferred in to the SGC, but we’ve been unable to contact any of them. If they were beamed to the ships, we may yet have a horse in this race, because I’m certain we can convince them to switch loyalty to us. For now, we have to presume all Outpost staff are gone, too.”

“Presume?” Dante wondered, voice dangerously low and eyebrow raised. 

Samuels winced. “We have no way to get to them at the moment. We have no beaming capabilities, no F-302’s—“

“No what!” shouted several voices.

“And there’s a blizzard grounding all air travel from McMurdo. It’ll be an estimated ten to twenty-four hours before they can get a search and rescue flight to the Outpost.”

Dante tapped his fingers on his arm rests. “So. They beamed out. To the ships. You can’t raise the ships? We have no one up there loyal to us?” 

“That’s been the Trust priority for years, and the closest they ever got was when they managed to infect Caldwell with his symbiote ‘guest’, a few years back. If you read any of the Declassification briefing notes, you know how that turned out. Otherwise, they’ve been unsuccessful. The ships are no longer in orbit over Earth. We don’t know where they’ve gone.”

“And they took the F-302’s with them,” Dante guessed with a small nod.

“That is our information at the present time, sir, yes,” Samuels agreed. “And all of the Jumpers we had on loan from Atlantis.”

“And you said we have no beaming tech?” Dante continued. “I thought we did. That’s what you told us at the last briefing, when we signed off on this cluster-fuck. Beaming tech at an authorized site, so the Shield would recognize it as friendly, and a way to counter the Shield, were two critical components in our plan, so we *could* get someone on the ships. Not to mention the Orbital Weapons Platforms and the Shield Satellites. You must have had something this morning, because half the people on the hit list were zatted by teams who beamed in, correct? So why the fucking hell don’t we have beaming capabilities now?”

Samuels stood even stiffer at attention. “Our hit teams were deployed from Area 51, which has since experienced… thefts of critical tech.”

“I thought you had everything you needed at your Utah labs.”

“Yes, well… I was… mis-informed by my staff. Apparently, what they meant was, with the appropriate Asgard crystals, we had everything *else* we needed for beaming. They were… confident, that the crystals they were growing would work, and would be ready in time. However…”

“They weren’t confident so much as over-confident?” Dante questioned. 

“That would seem to be the case, yes sir.”

Landry sighed and said, “Go on, Robert.”

“Wait a minute,” Bonneville interrupted. “All you need is crystals for the beaming stations, right? Well, there must be scads of them lying around at the SGC or Area 51…”

Dante closed his eyes and shook his head a little. Landry could only agree. That guy was a twit. No wonder no one had ever let him near the SecNav chair.

“Yes,” Samuels agreed slowly, “We *did* think of that, sir. Unfortunately, during their evacuation, the staff of those bases cleared out every useful or portable piece of tech to take with them, and locked down every computer system behind them. We’ve got a few weapons from the armories, zats and staff weapons, that kind of thing, but not a single Asgard or Goa’uld data or control crystal. There were a few naquadah generators left, connected to systems they either couldn’t or didn’t want to power down or remove. No doubt when we finally get to the Ancient Outpost, we’ll find it has been cleared out too.”

“And ZPM’s?” someone asked. 

“Apart from the ones powering the Shield and weapons platforms, including Antarctica, which we can’t get to at this time, there are no ZPM’s left on Earth.”

“Crap,” someone muttered, and Landry had to agree.

Samuels looked to him, and Landry nodded for him to continue. 

“The Planetary Shield they left alone. It’s fully operational and at full power, on stand-by mode. With the ZPM and at conservative estimates, once deployed, we have at least thirty days of protection under full bombardment from Goa’uld or Ori weapons systems. Double that for a Wraith attack. The OWPs are also fully operational and deployed, they still have their power sources plugged in, but are… deserted. The platforms require personnel to be beamed aboard to be operational, and we are unable to access them for the moment. Once my teams have finished growing the necessary crystals, we should be able to get up there.”

“How long for that?” General Stahl wanted to know.

“Not more than a month.”

“You know we’re going to have to have the OWP before Atlantis gets back. As far as we know, McKay’s space guns are the only things that stand a chance of stopping Atlantis. And as soon as they hear we’ve taken over, they’ll be hot-footing it back to us. That means weeks, doesn’t it? The city’s star-drive is faster than our BC-304s, right?”

“I am well aware of that, General. So is my staff.”

“Do we have a contingency plan in place?” Dante asked. 

“We have several,” Samuels answered, looking a little relieved not to have to give any more bad news… for now. “My Utah teams are already installed at the SGC to attempt to unlock the password protocols on their data, computer and other systems. They will also make it a priority to get the Stargate up and running…”

“Of course the Stargate is down,” Bonneville grumbled.

“Pardon my French,” Stahl joined in, “but your Utah staff suck the big one, Robert. You do realize every one of them have already been fired by Carter or McKay for being fucking incompetents? Or worse, never good enough to make it to their radar. If they were any good, they’d already be working at the Mountain or Atlantis.”

Landry interrupted in defense of his second in command. “Come on, guys, be reasonable. If we could have got McKay, Carter or Zelenka to join us, don’t you think we would have? No one has their expertise or familiarity with the systems they actually designed and built. And, okay, most of those guys in Utah are, at best, the C-Team. In the past, we’ve been limited in who we could recruit, people who wouldn’t have to start from square one when it came to this stuff. That pretty much meant Carter and McKay’s rejects. But, you might have noticed, we aren’t limited any more. So no one can really compare with Carter or McKay and their A-Teams. But there are some people out there who are close, and we can pretty much have our pick. Fleinhardt from CalSci actually has Asgard tech experience, from that sabbatical he took to serve on the *Apollo*. Charles Eppes may need some time to get up to speed, but he’s just as brilliant as Carter and McKay. Then there’s Dr. Malcolm Tunney, Dr. Nicholas Rush in Scotland, Dr. Svetlana Markov in Russia… Both of those last two have actual SGC experience. With the proper incentives, we can get anyone we want. So let’s leave the science team staffing problems for Robert to sort out. Okay?”

Samuels took a deep breath and plowed on ahead. 

“The Trust here does still have contact with the Lucian Alliance, and those guys have a few agents operating here too, most of them working with the Bratva. It won’t be long before the Lucians hear what’s happening. We might be able to talk them into getting us a space-ready ship, or the crystals we need, but we’re avoiding the Lucian Alliance as much as we can… even the remaining Trust won’t trust those fuckers. Pardon my French. That’s just a hornet’s nest we don’t need to kick over right now. But if the situation should… change, that is an option we may have to revisit.”

Samuels pressed on, “With ships and crystals, our access problems for the Shield and OWP will be resolved, in case the crystals we’re growing aren’t suitable. We may also need the Lucians to keep an eye out for any of our missing Primary and Secondary Targets. We suspect they’ll go first to the Alpha Site, maybe to the Free Jaffa on Chulak. After that, they’ll want to keep a low profile until Atlantis returns. They won’t want anyone out there to know about their current political situation, or how vulnerable they are. It shouldn’t be too hard to find them. We’re going to need hostages, sooner or later.

“We’ve contacted NASA and ordered them to pull one of the shuttles out of moth-balls and prepare for a launch, soonest. It isn’t common knowledge, but the Shield has software to recognize and allow NASA orbital vehicles safe passage in and out. That’s our best bet to get to the OWPs. They estimate six to twelve months for that, however, so we aren’t going to rely on them for transport to the Shield or OWP. That’s our worst-case failsafe. But it also might be possible for us to clone their Shield bypass. We have our people looking into that.”

“You said something about hostages?” Stahl seemed interested.

Landry smiled. “We don’t intend to just sit and wait for Atlantis to return and kick our asses. The plan was always to make sure we had the means to force Sheppard to surrender the city as soon as they got back. One of the Primaries would have been ideal, but we can make do with lesser targets. For one thing, we have Hayes and his loyalists under lock and key.”

NCIS Director Leon Vance said, “We’re still trying to compile a complete list of who’s missing. On Col. Samuels’ advice, we’ve been attempting to track down tertiary targets, close relatives of our Primaries and Secondaries, for use as hostages. Bottom line, it now seems they took spouses, parents, siblings and children with them. We’re widening the net, at this point, to a list of… er… quaternary targets… but it’s going to take us some time.”

“Meanwhile,” Dante said with deceptive calmness, “We’ll just have to sit tight until Atlantis returns, and make sure the public never finds out how little control we have over the Stargate, OWP and Shield. Bluff, bluster, obfuscate and entrench our position, and plan for worst-case scenarios.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Landry declared, with an outwardly cheerful smile as he leaned casually back in his chair, and looked Dante straight in the eye. The god-damned spic preferred the Machiavellian Godfather routine, but Landry himself favored the home-spun L’il Abner façade. If he had a straw, he’d be chewing it. “What, Rafe, you thought it was going to be easy, taking over the world?”

“Yeah, what about the world?” Stahl demanded. “What do they think of all this? And where’s Pamela Landy? Don’t tell me the Director of the CIA decamped with HomeWorld?”

“Pamela’s got some thinking to do, along with Sarah Porter and Walter Skinner of the FBI,” Landry reassured, “and they’re all doing it downstairs at the moment. When we’re through here, Robert will bring them up individually for a little chat. They can either head back downstairs, or join us. I believe they’ll make the correct choice.”

“I don’t know,” FBI Deputy Director Victor Fitzgerald warned, waggling his hand. “Skinner’s a boy scout. Not so good at playing the game. He might prove to be too stubborn for his own good. Not to mention he’s a damn fuck ‘em sympathizer.”

Hank shrugged. “So then you’ve got the FBI all to yourself, just like you always wanted, Victor. Poor you.”

Vance added, “Landy might be a problem too. She’s pretty tight with O’Neill and McKay. Both have worked with her on covert ops in the past.”

“Nobody’s tight with McKay, apart from Sheppard,” Landry scoffed. “That’s out-and-out fear you see. As long as we can prove to Landy that McKay will no longer be an issue, she’ll fall in line.”

“And the rest of the world?” Stahl insisted. He was the one man in the room with the most information on the Trust operations world-wide, and the efforts of foreign branches to take over their own governments. He knew France and Russia, in particular, were vulnerable right now. While China didn’t have much of a Trust presence, they were pragmatic and ambitious enough to be willing to play ball with the Patriots, as they would have been with a Trust takeover. They were certainly no fans of O’Neill’s iron grip on HWS.

“At the risk of quoting a notorious pedophile and fag, we *are* the world,” Landry smirked. “I’m not concerned.”

Robert Samuels explained, “Canada and the UK have broken all diplomatic ties. Small loss there – neither of them are a true military power, and trade sanctions will hurt them more than us. The UN is trying madly to intercede, but we’re not taking their calls. China is waiting to see how the chips fall, but they’re already making overtures. After being shut out for so long by O’Neill, they see this as a positive step. Russia and France are torn. They’ve got their own problem with rogue elements seeking a power grab, as we well know. Our friends over there are asking us for assistance with coups of their own, but we aren’t taking their calls for the time being, either. Everyone else is confused, out of the loop of what’s really going on. We have the OWP, and everyone knows it. That should keep even the most militant in line, so long as no one knows it’s not operational at the moment. But we have nothing to fear from any of them.” 

What Hank and his two pet colonels weren’t saying to this crowd, was that they hoped to catch ‘Lord’ Baal and ‘Lord’ Nun with their pants down, and scoop up the *Nala* for themselves. Maybe the cargo ship wouldn’t be able to pass through the Shield, but it had cloak, shields of its own, weapons, and beaming tech that would certainly work within the confines of the Shield. With that they could easily evacuate the Ancient Outpost in Antarctica... if they chose. But why would they, and reveal their ace in the hole? Because if this whole gig went down the crapper, they would need a way out. *Nala* would be that exit plan.

“So,” Landry finished, rubbing his hands, his smile growing ever wider. “Not so bad for our first day’s work, hunh boys? What say we order in pizza, and get down to the nitty-gritty of planning our next moves?”

Å 

*~ A cat has nine lives; for three he plays, for three he strays, and for three he stays. ~ English proverb*

Å

**Author's Note:**

> Åuthor Notes:  
> Have no fear, my friends. The final Stage, Stage VII, will be launched next week.


End file.
